


Cold Obsidian Eyes

by johnsarmylady



Series: The Blind Doctor [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blind!John, Captured!Sherlock, Drugs and drug use, Fighting Violence with Violence, Gang warfare, M/M, Shocks, Steampunk!Sherlock, Trust and treachery, Warzone!London
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 00:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 143
Words: 31,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2672672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnsarmylady/pseuds/johnsarmylady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>London, after Moriarty's attempt to take over the country, is left in the hands of ruthless and power hungry gangs. Sherlock Holmes, scientist, found himself kidnapped, rescued, and dragged into the fight by a stranger and his unusual band of followers. But Sherlock has a secret that could spell death for all of them.</p><p>A story told in 221B style</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Meeting

Hanging by his wrists from rusty manacles, half naked, and cold to the bone, Sherlock Holmes, scientist and opponent of the feudal system that had taken hold of the country after Moriarty’s failed attempt to take control, waited to learn his fate.

A hundred ‘leaders’ sprung up across Greater London, carving the map according to postal districts. Each leader  was  hungry for power and willing to do whatever it took to take another’s territory, another’s men.

Sherlock had been relatively safe, left in peace by local gang leader Sholto. 

John Barrymore had overthrown Sholto, and added the NW1 district to his growing powerbase.  A man with knowledge of politics and power, he made it his business to find out who, of note, lived on his ‘patch’.

Sherlock Holmes was immediately identified as a potential threat, and as such was drugged and kidnapped, waking up some time later to be interrogated by a lackey.  He held his nerve, and his tormentor brought him here and chained him up.

Now listening to the silence Sherlock heard a soft scuffling outside, and the door eased open.

A blond man slipped in, moving unerringly to his side, a finger to his lips to indicate silence, and as he stepped into a thin shaft of light Sherlock realised with a shock that the man was blind.


	2. No Time for Explanation

With sure movements the shorter man reached up and, using what looked to Sherlock’s tired eyes like a hairpin, picked the locks on the manacles.

“Don’t speak, there’ll be time later.” A soft voice whispered in his ear, and a hand rested on the side of his head. “Can you walk?”

Sherlock nodded, just as his knees gave way under him.  A strong arm caught him and there was a short pause while Sherlock found his feet, then the soft voice asked again

“Can you walk?”

Straightening up and taking a tentative step, he looked down into the unseeing blue eyes, and feeling the hand once more on his head nodded, this time certain of his answer. A gleam of white teeth flashed in the gloom as his rescuer smiled and beckoned for him to follow.

Moving swiftly and silently the smaller man slipped away, Sherlock close on his heels, keeping close to the shadows by the walls.  More than once Sherlock cursed his lack of a shirt or jacket as he grazed his arm and shoulder against jutting stonework.

He felt rather than saw his companion stop and press himself against the wall, and followed suit without question.

As the sound of patrolling thugs faded to the distance the voice whispered once more.

“Close your eyes, the sun’s very bright.”


	3. The Police Connection

The grey haired police officer stood facing the back of the swivel chair, his head bowed, waiting patiently.

 The occupant of the chair had finally run out of insulting epithets for his ineffective foot soldiers and was staring moodily out of the window, as if by doing so he could see where his errant captive was hiding from him.

“Lestrade.” The name was bitten out, and the Detective Inspector snapped to attention. “It’s time you earned your continuing status in the Met.”

“Sir.” Gregory Lestrade kept his voice neutral; it wouldn’t do to anger the man to whom he owed allegiance.

“Holmes has managed to escape.” The chair swung round and piercing green eyes raked the police officer from head to foot.  “Someone must have helped him, so I want him found.  Find him, and you’ll find the cuckoo in our nest.”

“I’ll need to know who was supposed to be guarding him,” Lestrade replied, “and where he was being held.” 

Anticipating this request, a pudgy hand indicated a sheet of paper sitting on a side table.

“I had believed every man on that list to be trustworthy.”  There was lethal anger in the snarled words. “It pains me to know I’ve been betrayed.”

“And when I find him?” Lestrade was sure he already knew the answer.

“I want him buried!”


	4. Following Blindly

Ducking his head until his eyes became accustomed to the light, Sherlock walked beside his blind companion, his mind frantically working out a way to get away both from his new friend and from this area.

He couldn’t go home, they knew where he lived.  And for the moment there was no-one else he could trust.

“You can trust me.”

“I don’t know who you are.”

“No, that true isn’t it?” The smaller man grinned. “However, you’ll not get far in just a pair of trousers and shoes with the soles hanging off.”

“How did…..”

“Makes a noise as you walk. Now,” he reached out and unerringly grasped the other man’s elbow, “in here.”

Sherlock found himself in the back yard of a deserted wholesaler.  His companion let out a low whistle, and two young men slipped out from behind the industrial sized waste bins.

“He needs a shirt or jumper, a coat, and if you can find him some shoes he’ll be less likely to break his neck.” He held out a hand, and the younger of the two placed the strap of a backpack into his hand. “Thanks Keith, now get going, before he freezes to death.”

As Keith and his friend hurried away, Sherlock found himself being dragged through a small door into the back of the building.


	5. Coming Clean

As the door closed behind them his guide pressed a lighter into his hand and pointed to the far corner of the unused warehouse.

“You’ll find a couple of candles over there.”

“Don’t tell me that something as simple as lighting candles is beyond the man who broke me out of captivity.” Sherlock said snarkily.

His companion turned to face him.

“I could do it,” he said mildly, “but you’re the one who needs the light.  I can work just as well without.” And he turned away and walked towards some upturned crates.

“Work?” Sherlock felt suddenly wrong-footed.

“You’re a scientist Mr Holmes; you know the likelihood of infection if we don’t clean up those scrapes you picked up in the catacombes.” He started unpacking the backpack, his hands swiftly identifying each item he retrieved from its depths. “What, lost for words?”

“How do you know me?  Who are you?” Sherlock lit the candles, their yellow light making little difference in the gloom.

“You’re the man Moriarty believed was his intellectual equal.” The other man worked as he spoke, cleaning and dressing Sherlock’s wounds. “He believed you could help him develop mind-bending drugs to use against the government.”

“But who are you?” Sherlock asked again

“My name is John, and I’m the only person standing between you and gang leader Barrymore.”


	6. Changing Character

“John.  Just John, or do you have another name?” Sherlock sat on the upturned crate, watching as the other man worked.

“Just John will do.”  Without hesitation he packed his things neatly back into the backpack. “Right, stay there a minute; I’ll see if Keith’s managed to find you some clothes.”

Sherlock heard soft voices talking outside, then the sound of several people walking towards the door. Suddenly aware of his vulnerability he dropped down behind the crates, looking around to see if there was another way out.

“I assume all that noise was you trying to hide.” John chuckled. “You really have nothing to fear from us.” Dropping a bundle on the crate he added “Your new clothes; shirt and jacket, and a pair of DM’s.”

Undoing the bundle, Sherlock stared in dismay at the black studded and chained shirt, the red military style jacket and black scruffy boots.

“Steam Punk” Keith said. “Last thing they’d expect you to wear.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Sherlock muttered, not quite under his breath.

“You’ve a bit of a problem as you can’t go back to your Balcombe Street mews, however I’m sure they won’t expect you to stay in the NW1 area.” John said quietly. “I’ve a flat in Baker Street, if you want I can let you use the spare bedroom.”


	7. Warning and Informing

“John, can I have a word?”  Keith’s so far silent friend laid a hand on the blind man’s arm, indicating he wanted to speak privately.

John nodded and moved away from the others, calling over his shoulder as he went

“Get changed Mr Holmes, we’ll need to move on very soon – the longer we wait the more likely they’ll find you.”

Grey eyes followed the two men as they walked away out of earshot.  As if to reinforce the need for privacy, Keith started talking, encouraging the half-naked man to put his new clothes on, discussing where they had got them from and his hopes that the boots were okay.

Sherlock let it wash over him as he pulled the shirt and jacket on, his attention still on the other men.  The young man was leaning close, whispering, and John was nodding, occasionally commenting, but he couldn’t make out what was being said.

Conversation over, John walked back towards him, pulling a mobile phone from his pocket and sliding his thumb over the keyboard, dialling with ease of  practice.

“Who are you ringing?”

“Police.” John held up a hand to forestall any more questions as the call was answered. “It’s John.  You have a rogue officer in Scotland Yard.”

He paused, listening, then said.

“Yeah I know, just watch your back.”


	8. Moving On

John finished his call and dug once more into the backpack, pulling out a folding white stick.

“Right you lads get yourselves away, stay safe” Pulling the backpack over his shoulders as he spoke, John flicked his wrist, extending and locking the stick. “We’ll give them a few minutes to get clear before we move on.”

When the two younger men had gone, John stood tapping his stick absent-mindedly on the floor in front of him.

Sherlock waited, impatient to be gone from the area.

Suddenly John looked up.

“You any good at grabbing taxis?” he asked. “Failing that we have to travel by tube.”

“No money.” Sherlock pulled his pockets inside out as if to illustrate, then remembered his companion wouldn’t see it.

“Leave that to me, come on.” Securing the building John walked slowly along the pavement, tapping his stick.

“Here.” Sherlock grasped the smaller man’s arm, halting him, then stepped to the curb and held up his hand.

As the cab pulled up beside them, John hissed “Say nothing” then climbed in, giving the cabbie the address as his companion climbed in behind him.

Arriving in Baker Street, John paid the fare, and was about to open the front door when two figures peeled themselves away from the shadows, and grabbed him, slamming him back against the brickwork.


	9. An Unusual Welcoming Party

With an inarticulate cry Sherlock found himself pinned against the wall by a third man, the first two standing between him and John, shielding the smaller man.

“You alright?”

Sherlock was surprised to hear the question being asked, and realised they were speaking to his companion.

“Let him go Gary, he’s with me.”

“But…”

“Not now” John snapped.  “Let him go and let’s get inside before we draw attention to ourselves.”

Pushing past his would-be protectors, John finally got the door open and all five men entered the house.

“Get the light if you need it.” John was already making his way up the stairs in the darkness “And keep the bloody noise down, I don’t want you to upset my landlady.”

Leading them into the living room, John sat down and waited until they were all settled, Sherlock on the other armchair, the three shadows perched uncomfortably on the settee.

“Right, Mr Holmes here will be staying for the foreseeable future. Mr Holmes, meet Gary, Phil and Andy.  They, like Keith and Paul, are my eyes and ears around town.” He waited for the introduction to sink in, and then added “Guys, if you see Mr Holmes here in trouble at any time, you help him out, okay? He’s under my protection now.”

The three young men nodded. “Yes boss.”


	10. The Breaking of Oaths

Lestrade sat at his desk, aware that what he was doing went against everything his oath to uphold the law meant, yet he wasn’t going to let something like that bother him as he entered each name from Barrymore’s list into HOLMES.

“Sir, can you spare me a moment?” Sally Donovan appeared in the doorway of the office, a sheaf of papers in her hand.

Unobtrusively Lestrade switched screens and covered the papers on his desk.

“Sure, anything’s better than completing this month’s stats for the Chief Constable to moan about.” He smiled, and indicated the seat opposite him. “What’s up?”

“We’ve had word that Barrymore is going to make a move on Openshaw’s patch.”  She said quietly. “A very reliable informant overheard a couple of Barrymore’s lieutenants.”

Sally was busy reading from her notes, and didn’t notice the guarded expression that flitted over the Detective Inspector’s face.

“Who else knows about this?”

“Only DI Gregson, he brought it to me because he knew we’ve been working the Sholto case.”  Glancing up she added “If it’s true, then he’s attempting to join his areas.”

Lestrade nodded “By adding WC1 to his collection.”

Crossing to the wall map he looked at the disputed area.

“If he succeeds he’ll have one hell of an area.”

Sally sighed wearily. “Not just big, the biggest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: HOLMES – Home Office Large Major Enquiry System


	11. Making Connections

“What’s your speciality?”

The question pulled Sherlock out of his musings, and he looked up to find he was being offered a cup of tea.

“My speciality?”

“You’re a scientist, Mr Holmes, so what are you? Chemist?  Physicist?”

“Chemist, with a further interest in Forensics, but…. I get the impression you already knew that.” He took a sip of his tea. “After all, why else would you break me out of Barrymore’s little torture chamber.”

Returning to his chair John leaned forward, his blind eyes staring at Sherlock’s face.

 “I know there is more to your kidnapping than your profession, more than the fact that Moriarty himself had targeted you.” 

John considered his next words carefully, feeling the tension in the room as his guest waited.

“He has access to chemists and forensic pathologists at Bart’s, quite legitimately too, as they work on his patch.” Rubbing a hand over his face, he continued. “I won’t ask you to break any confidences, so I’ll talk and you listen.”

John went on to talk about a Government official, one with power and connections, one who had, apparently, disappeared after Moriarty’s failed coup.

“The official was called Mycroft Holmes. That name, and the fact that Barrymore wants him, seems too much of a coincidence to me.”

Sherlock grimaced.

“You’re right John, he’s my brother.”


	12. A Far From Normal Day

Sherlock let his words sink in, before adding

“And I have no idea where he is.”

John nodded, stood up and moved to the hall. “Your bedroom is at the end of the hall.”

“I don’t normally sleep much.” Sherlock shrugged, not moving from his chair.

“So I’ve just been imagining hearing you stifling a yawn or two then?”  With a grin he started up the stairs. “And I think you’ll agree it a far from normal day, so I suggest you go to bed.”

“Am I your prisoner now?”

The question stopped John in his tracks, and he returned to the living room.

“No, when I said you’re under my protection I meant exactly that.” Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you want to leave I won’t stop you, I’ll shake your hand, and wish you luck, and wait for the newspaper report of your death.”

There was a strained silence.

“Look, it’s been a rough day.  Get some sleep, and if you feel the same in the morning, then go.”

“That sounds fair.” Sherlock yawned and rose to his feet.

“If you’re up before me there’s tea, coffee and cereal in the kitchen, help yourself.” He turned away, then added  “And if you bump into Mrs Hudson don’t worry, her bark is worse than her bite.”


	13. Ladies of the Night

Sally Donovan sat self-consciously fiddling with her coffee cup, trying not to look too obvious as she waited for her contact.  In her pocket a piece of paper bearing two names, names that had until now been closely guarded.

Outside in the rain, two teenage boys lounged under a street-lamp, sheltering their cigarettes with cupped hands, jeering at passers-by, surreptitiously watching the dusky skinned detective.

And in the darkness of an unlit shop doorway three shadows watched the watchers.

As the meeting time came and went Sally’s nerves were fraying.  She dare not be caught with this information on her, and was planning how to get rid of it when the door opened, and slim brunette in a dark business suit hurried across to her table.

“Sally honey, I’m so sorry!  The tube was a nightmare, so crowded, and we stopped for ages outside the station!”

As she stood to hug the newcomer Sally protested it was not a problem, and under cover of arranging their seats slipped the paper into the brunette’s pocket.

Two coffees and some animated conversation later, the women went their separate ways, Sally back to her flat in Harringay, her companion walking unhurriedly back towards the tube station.

The teenage boys peeled themselves away from the street-lamp, moments later the shadows followed them, following the brunette


	14. Learning the Rules

John listened carefully as he walked down the stairs, and picked up the sounds of his houseguest trying to be very quiet in the living room.

Ignoring him, he walked through to the kitchen and started making himself a cup of tea.  Almost knocking the jar of coffee from the work-top, he spoke, his voice only slightly raised so that the other man would hear.

“You need to put things back where they came from Mr Holmes, it becomes a bit expensive if I keep knocking things over and breaking them.”

“I didn’t think….”

“’S okay, but if you’re going to stay you need to remember.” His tea made, John walked through to join the younger man.  “And you are going to stay aren’t you.”

“Logically, it’s my best option.”

“So, do I carry on calling you Mr Holmes?”

“No…. no, Sherlock, please.”

“Right then Sherlock, first you need some more clothes, you can’t wear the same stuff forever.”

“I’m afraid there may be a problem….”

“No, no problem, I’ll organise it; unless you’d rather wear my old clothes?”

That elicited the first genuine laugh John had heard from his new flatmate.

“Unfortunately,” John continued, “Barrymore is having your place watched round the clock.” He sipped his tea thoughtfully. “So I think sending Mrs Hudson shopping would be our best bet.”


	15. A Question of Sticks

“You don’t use your stick.” Sherlock mused out loud as he stood watching John negotiate his way around the kitchen as he prepared breakfast.

“On my own territory Sherlock, you’ll find most blind people know the layout of their homes like a map in their head.”

“But what about yesterday?  You weren’t at home then… or were you?”

John gathered his thoughts as he carefully placed a fried egg onto each slice of toast, then turning he placed the two plates on the table.

“Eat.” He said finally, sitting down.

“I don’t…..”

“Don’t tell me you don’t, just eat.”

“You’re avoiding the question.” Sherlock sulked.

“No, the answer is simple really; we knew where you’d be, and would have rescued you earlier but I needed to be sure I could get to you and get you out unseen.” He chewed thoughtfully, and then added. “I walked the route several times escorted by Keith and Paul respectively until I knew it well enough to appear sighted.”

“And inside the prison?” His food untouched Sherlock steepled his fingers under his chin, his elbows resting on the table.

“I was a prisoner there once; they dragged me through every inch of that place daily.”

Sherlock held his breath, waiting.

“They beat me; every day with sticks and chains, until eventually they beat me blind.”


	16. Blood and Sand

As the words settled heavily around them, Sherlock picked up his cutlery and started cutting into this food, forking it into his mouth and chewing without really tasting it at all.

John’s revelations had shaken him, brought him to the realisation of his own likely fate had this short, blind, _brave_ man not risked himself to break him out.

“Why?”

“Why did they take me?  They seemed to think I had some information that was useful to them.” John shrugged, pushing his plate to one side and resting his forearms on the kitchen table.

“And did you?” Sherlock watched the other man’s face closely, looking for any signs of deception.

John grinned, conspiratorially.

“Well of course I did, but once they’d beaten me senseless, and damaged my optical nerves, they convinced themselves that if I had known anything I would have told them long before things got that bad.” A cold, hard look settled on his pleasant features. “But if Barrymore thought I’d risk my former comrades by giving him the locations of the Poppy fields, and Taliban drug lords.”

“Taliban drug lords? You were in Afghanistan?”

“Army doctor, attached to 5th Northumberland Fusiliers.” Standing quite suddenly John turned away, slamming his plate into the sink. “He was mad if he thought I’d betray my friends in Kandahar and Camp Bastion.”


	17. Mrs Hudson, Please!

The sound of the front door opening had John holding his hand up to forestall any further questions Sherlock may have had.  

Still facing the sink he lifted his head and listened, then hurried out to open the door to the flat.

“Mrs Hudson, how many times do I have to tell you not to carry the shopping upstairs for me, I’m blind not incapable.”

“Now John,” A motherly voice chided. “I had help….”

“It’s only me Doc.” Gary followed Mrs Hudson through the door.

“Oh!  You have company.” Mrs Hudson looked interestedly at Sherlock. “Are you staying with John?”

“Yes he is, and no we’re not.” John had taken the bags from Gary and was busily unloading fresh fruit and vegetable into the fridge.

Sherlock looked confused, his eyes darting between his host and the landlady.

“Oh there’s nothing to be ashamed of, we get all sorts round here….”

“Yes, and Mrs Turner next door has married ones, enough Mrs Hudson please!  I do have a favour to ask though.”

“Of course dear.”

John reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

“I want you to buy Sherlock some decent clothes.” He handed over a bank card. “Take what money you need from the account.”

“Hang on a minute.” Sherlock protested. “What is she implying?”

“That you’re my boyfriend"


	18. Clothes and Information

As Sherlock followed the octogenarian down to her ground floor flat, John closed the door and turned to Gary.

“What news?”

“We’ve found her.” Gary spoke softly, sitting himself in the chair recently vacated by the other man.

“Any trouble?” John asked, sitting opposite his informant.

“Not that we couldn’t deal with.”

“How many?”

“Two.  They won’t cause any problems; they can’t be traced back to us.”

“Right, so tell me.”

John listened as Gary related the events of the previous evening, taking in the details.

“And,” the informant concluded. “She met with someone we know…. Sally Donovan.”

Sherlock burst noisily into the silence that followed Gary’s words, his face like thunder.

“That….. that woman….”

“Mrs Hudson.”

“Yes, she told me I can’t wear the kind of clothes I like to wear!”

John dismissed Gary, and once he had gone asked

“And that is?”

“Black jeans, designer tees and cardigans, designer jackets.”

“And no doubt that is what Barrymore would have seen you wearing, found in your wardrobe?”

“Yes but…”

“Trust Martha Hudson, her late husband was always several steps on the wrong side of the law so she knows what she’s doing.”

“What that sweet little old lady?”

John laughed out loud.

“The very same.” He sobered up a little. “Get some rest, tonight we’re off to visit Fulham Broadway.”


	19. Watchers

Unlocking his desk drawer, Greg Lestrade reached in for the papers he had stashed there the night before.

Checking on all the names on Barrymore’s list was a slow process; he needed to do them one or two at a time to avoid attracting unwanted attention or suspicion.

The information so far had been helpful, but had not yet identified a likely suspect. Lestrade typed in the next name and waited.

“Sir, can you spare a moment?”

He looked up to see Detective Constable Greenaway hovering in the doorway and so he beckoned the man in.

“What is it Greenaway?”

“It’s that scientist bloke that went missing.” The younger red-headed man said. “We’ve had reports of a number of suspicious looking characters watching his home.”

“Oh?” Lestrade’s interest piqued. “Do we have descriptions?”

The detective pulled a notebook out.

“Yeah, a bit sketchy, but one of them definitely had a septum piercing, with a chain leading to another ring in his ear.”

Instructing the other man to get a few officers together, Lestrade sent him to see if they could pick any of them up and bring them in for questioning.

Watching the other man leave, he picked up his mobile and pressed the speed-dial.

As it was answered he said calmly

“You’ve got a problem.  Someone has reported your boys.”


	20. Life in the Dark

“Why do you keep them?”

“Sorry?” John opened his eyes, turning his head in the direction of the questioner.

“The books.  Why keep them?” Sherlock sounded genuinely curious.

John sighed.

“They took my sight Sherlock, but I’ll be damned before I let them take my life with it.”

There was a sound very like a snort of derision, and John frowned.

“What?”

“Sentiment.” The younger man almost spat the word, his disgust at such maudlin emotions evident.

John opened his mouth but his words were forestalled by the sound of his phone ringing.  He pulled it from his pocket, his thumb moving with familiar ease to answer the call.

“Yeah mate, what have you got?” John stood and walked out to the kitchen.

_“Barrymore knows that his watchers have been spotted, he’s pulling them out.”_

“Hmm, okay.”

_“And there’s no more news on the information leak, I’ll keep at it.”_

“Great. Unfortunately I have another person to consider.”

_“Who?”_

“Sergeant Sally Donovan.”

_“Christ John….”_

“Sorry mate, I know another mole is the last thing you needed to hear, but if you could check it out…”

_“I’m on it. Check in later.”_

The line went dead, and John returned to his seat.

“How did you know who it was?”

“Ringtone; everyone has a different one, so do you prefer Mozart or Beethoven?”


	21. Making the Man

By mid-afternoon Mrs Hudson had returned with nearly a dozen bags filled with some high end clothing, significantly different from Sherlock’s favoured style. 

Grumbling, he took the bags through to his designated room, and nearly an hour later having showered and shaved returned to the living room where John and Mrs Hudson were chatting amiably over a cup of tea and a slice of her home-made Victoria sponge.

“Oh now, that’s an improvement!” the elderly lady exclaimed clapping her hands.

“Tell me?” John smiled, resting his head against the back of the chair and closing his eyes.

“Well it’s an improvement on Steam Punk.” Sherlock groused, but there was no conviction in his voice.

John quirked an eyebrow.

“Deep purple shirt, black Spencer Hart suit, black brogues….” He paused, and John’s eyes flicked open.

“What?  Something you don’t like?”

“No.” it was almost a reverend whisper. “It’s the most magnificent coat I’ve ever seen. Thank you Mrs Hudson”

“It’s a Belstaff John, calf-length, greatcoat style.” Martha Hudson beamed up at the young man who was currently trying different ways of wearing the garment. “The style suits you.”

She stood and reached into a small carrier bag, adding a blue cashmere scarf and a pair of leather gloves.

“Fortunate you have plenty of savings,” she added. “That lot almost broke the bank!”


	22. Cherchez la Femme

They travelled to Fulham Broadway by tube, and when they changed onto the District line they had the whole carriage to themselves.

“Where are we going?” Sherlock asked as they pulled out of Edgware Road station.

“To speak to the woman that Sally Donovan met last night.” John let the train pull out of another station before elucidating. “We think she passed her some information, but that’s not the only reason we’re interested in her.”

“And why do I get the feeling you aren’t going to tell me more?”

John laughed softly.

“Her description matches a person we’ve been looking for, and I want to talk to her.”

Sherlock stared at his feet.

“Why did you do it?” He asked suddenly. “Why did you risk it, coming to get me?”

John stood as the train pulled into Fulham Broadway station, tapping his white stick against the platform as he stepped out. He waited until they were outside before answering.

“Barrymore wants your brother quite badly, and he is unlikely to believe that he disappeared without telling you.”

“And?”

“And if killing you would bring your brother out of hiding, then that’s what he was prepared to do.”

The revelation momentarily silenced the younger man as they approached the house.

 “We’re here” Sherlock said as he reached up to ring the bell.


	23. A Revelation

It had been twenty four hours since she had followed her instructions and passed the information on, yet Sally couldn’t help wondering if her actions were too little, too late. 

Sitting on her settee, hugging a mug of hot chocolate she went over in her mind the conversation, and the instructions she had been given when this all started.

_“You have to be sure that she gets this information.”_

_“How will I know when…?”_

_“It will be obvious. As soon they make their move, you need to contact her and make sure you pass the names on.  She will know what to do with them.”_

_“And afterwards?”_

_“Afterwards we play a waiting game….”_

Well, the waiting game had well and truly started, and with churning stomach Sally pinned her hopes on her contacts knowing their game, and her own abilities to keep below the radar and come out of this unscathed.

xXx

In the dark south London street Sherlock and John stood playing their own waiting game, listening to the sounds of movement within the house.

Footsteps were heard descending the stairs, and John moved closer to his companion until their arms were touching. It was a casual, seemingly unconscious move, but as the door finally opened it allowed him to feel the ripple of shock that accompanied Sherlock’s harsh, indrawn breath.


	24. The Mystery Brunette

Opening the door wide the brunette gasped.

“Mr Holmes!  How did you find me?”

With a quick glance up and down the street she stepped back and gestured for them to come in.

As if by habit born Sherlock took John’s elbow and guided him forward, closing the door behind them and leaning back against it.

“Anthea? I thought you were with my brother.”

“No Sherlock,” John interjected “Your brother went off to do whatever it was he needed to do to protect the country, and left his PA here to keep an eye on things.”

“Who is this?” Anthea had regained her composure, stepping away and leading them through to the kitchen.

“This is John Watson, he broke me out of Barrymore’s clutches.”

Finding his way to a seat at the table, John said nothing.

Anthea sat opposite the two men, her eyes on her boss’s younger brother. “So, how did you find me?”

“I didn’t.” Sherlock answered quietly. “John did.”

“How?”

“The same way I rescued Sherlock, with a little help from my friends.” John sat back in his chair. “We know Sally Donovan passed some info to you, I assume it will enable you to contact Mycroft.”

“And what if it does?”

John’s eyes narrowed “To be passed to you if they targeted Sherlock, just as I believed.”


	25. Not so Civil Servants

There was a strained silence as John’s words struck a chord.

“I assumed that there was more to his disappearance than the fact that most Government officials’ lives were virtually forfeit in the months after the collapse.”

“Are you implying that Mr Holmes is a coward?” Anthea snapped indignantly.

“No, I’m implying he has knowledge, or a secret, that in the wrong hands could be devastating.” John indicated his sightless eyes. “And I’d like to help take down the people that did this to me.”

Anthea looked at Sherlock; he nodded his consent.

“Mr Holmes had intelligence that indicated several senior civil servants were linked to a heroin operation, shipping the drug from Afghanistan to be sold on the London streets.” As she talked the brunette drew circles on the table with her finger-tip. “The warlords were somehow mixing the drug with other compounds, and producing rubber based toys and garden ornaments.”

“And the civil servants?” John asked.

Sherlock leaned forward to take up the tale.

“There were three of them, between them they owned an import export company that traded solely with ‘poor Afghanistan villagers’, helping them to build their own economy.” He said. “But the truth was the ‘villagers’ were Taliban poppy growers. It was obvious.”

“And,” Anthea added, “After Moriarty, the civil servants ended up in body bags.”


	26. Evidence

“Are you sure about this Lestrade?” Barrymore growled, staring hard at the files on the desk.  The names on the manila covers were as familiar to him as his own.

“I’m sorry sir,” Greg stood with his hands at his sides, letting the waves of anger from the other man wash over him.

“I trusted them!” the words were roared over the policeman’s apology, “They were like sons to me!”

“Unfortunately there can be no mistake; we have evidence that both of them have connections with other gangs.”

“And this is your evidence?” the gang leader opened both files, spreading out arrest sheets and photographs.

“Some of it.” Lestrade said. “I can get more if you need it.”

“No.” Scooping up the files and their incriminating contents he thrust them back into Greg’s hands.

“You want me to….”

“I don’t think so. I’ll have them taken care of, not doubt they will drop onto your desk in time. Having you on the inside at the Yard is the smartest move I could have made.” Barrymore smiled in a self-congratulatory manner. “Go back to your office and turn your mind to finding Holmes.”

“Which one?”

“I think where you find one, the other will not be far away.” Barrymore waved a dismissing hand. “I want them here, I _will_ have their blood!”


	27. Trust

“I want to know who your contacts were.” John’s voice was firm, brooking no arguments. “We need to work together on this.”

“And what, exactly, is _this_?”

“Don’t be obtuse Anthea, he’s talking about bringing Barrymore down.” Sherlock shifted in his chair “With him out of the picture Mycroft can continue his work without fear of kidnap and torture.”

Anthea’s blue gaze roamed over the pale face, lingering on the high cheekbones before meeting and holding the silver grey stare.

“You trust him.” It was a statement, not a question.

“He saved my life, came in to get me when no one else did.”

“And you don’t think that’s strange?  A total stranger, and no ordinary total stranger but a blind man, walks into Barrymore’s lair and unpicks your handcuffs?”

“How did you know that?” Immediately John was alert.

“You said…” suddenly the ever efficient PA looked and sounded unsure.

“No, I think you’ll find that neither of us mentioned handcuffs.” Sherlock moved to stand behind her. “Only someone who had seen me, or been told by an insider could possibly have known that.”

John rose and edged around the table until he stood next to his new flatmate.

“What is your connection to Barrymore?” he asked.

Anthea twisted in her chair and smirked up at them.

“He is my boyfriend!”


	28. Outcomes

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than John reached forward and splayed his hand across her face, pushing down and pressing her cheek into the table.

“Is he coming here?” he snarled softly.

Her answer was to try to bite him, so he moved his fingers to tangle them in her hair, his painful grip holding her still.

“What now?” Sherlock asked staring down in disgust at his brother’s trusted employee. 

With his free hand John pulled out his phone, hitting the speed-dial. It was answered almost immediately. 

“Keith, we may be expecting company. Keep your eyes peeled.” Cutting the call he answered Sherlock’s question. “I need you to search for those contact names, they’re your brother’s lifeline.”

With a hum of agreement he headed first for the lounge, rummaging through the papers near the telephone, and then turning his attention to the bureau in the corner.

An overflowing bin caught his eye and he tipped it up, quickly scanning every crumpled sheet.

He finally found what he had been looking for and bounded back into the kitchen, John was on the phone

“Barrymore’s on his way, we’ve got to go.” John said.

But Sherlock’s eyes were drawn to the woman slumped limply at the table.

“What happened?”

“A mild contretemps,” John explained, “I’m afraid her neck’s broken.”


	29. The Getaway

Sherlock bit back any questions he might have had, and in light of their rather hazardous situation looked around for an escape route.

“Out through the back door?” He suggested.

“Go.” John snatched up his white stick and followed the sound of Sherlock crossing to and opening the back door, stepping carefully through into the garden, relying on his hearing to keep him moving behind his flatmate.

Slipping through the back gate Sherlock found himself in a dark back alley running parallel with the road and the row of houses.

“Not fast enough.” John muttered under his breath as they made their way back towards the underground station.

Sherlock grabbed his hand.

“What…?” John tried to pull away

“D’you trust me John?”

There was the merest pause for breath before he got his answer in the renewed grip on his hand, and the sound of a soft chuckle.

“Always.”

“Then run!” Sherlock tugged, and suddenly the pair were flying down the alleyway, bursting out onto a side street. He led them across a road, zig-zagging through the traffic until they reached the station.

At a more sedate pace they walked, no longer holding hands, down to the platform. They were still gasping for air and giggling helplessly when they boarded the train.

John looked towards Sherlock and grinned. “You mad bastard!”


	30. Home Again

They reached the flat, having purchased fish and chips as they left the station, and John quickly dished up the food while waiting for the kettle to boil.

When supper was finished, Sherlock’s thoughts turned back to Fulham.

 “Was it really necessary to kill her?” He asked.

John put aside his empty plate.

“If you want to remain at liberty; if she’d passed your description to Barrymore you wouldn’t have lasted a week.” He stood and walked over to switch on the radio.

“What now?”

“Need to wind down.”

Sherlock frowned.

 “Let me read to you?”

John hesitated.

“You don’t exactly strike me as the story-teller type.”

Sherlock chuckled.

“Maybe I’ll surprise you.” He stood up and headed for the bookshelf, running his fingers along the spines until he found one he thought might suit.

“What have you chosen?” John settled back onto the couch.

“Neverwhere.”

“Appropriate.” John grinned, and as Sherlock started to read he closed his eyes and relaxed.

It wasn’t long before Sherlock felt a weight against his arm and he realised John had slipped across the couch and was dozing against him.  Putting the book aside, he eased the blond head down into his lap and softly stroked his friend’s hair.

And he wondered if he should share with John the secrets held fast in his brain


	31. Found

It always amazed Greg that the press could reach a crime scene almost as quickly as he could, and as he climbed out of his car he noticed the gang leader standing in the doorway looking both angry and upset.

“Mr Barrymore?” he  asked. “Detective Inspector Lestrade.  I understand you found the body.”

Greg ushered him back into the house as they spoke. Neither man gave any sign of knowing the other.

“Someone broke in here and killed my girlfriend.” Barrymore fists were clenched as he fought his anger.

A glance at the front door showed that it hadn’t been forced, so he followed the other man through to where the forensic team were taking photographs and looked at the back door.

“No forced entry.  Could it be that she knew her killer?”

“Who knows?” the anger was over-spilling now. “She used to work for the government....”

Stepping up to take a closer look at the body Greg realised with a start that he recognised the woman slumped, inelegant in death, across her kitchen table.  She was none other than Mycroft Holmes’ PA.

When the government fell he alone was missing from the list of murdered civil servants, and Greg had always assumed his ever present assistant had fled with him.

“Well,” he thought, “I can’t believe how wrong I’ve been.”


	32. Fright

She couldn’t shake it, that feeling that something monumental was about to happen.  It fizzed in her stomach and raced around her head, until she gave up any pretence of trying to sleep, pulling on her dressing gown and heading to the kitchen.

Her bare feet cold on the tiled floor, she curled her toes and rocked back on her heels while she waited for the kettle to boil. A glance at the clock told her she’d barely been in bed for an hour, yet despite having been achingly tired when she climbed in she was now wide awake.

Hot drink made, she made her way through to the lounge and flipped on the television, skimming through the channels until she came to a news programme. Tucking her feet up she let the voice of the newsreader flow over her, the war in Afghanistan, the Russians grouping on the Ukrainian border… then breaking news.

The picture that flashed up on the screen showed a thirty something brunette, and with widening, horrified eyes she saw her friend, and heard the reporter say how she’d been found dead by her boyfriend, businessman Jay Barrymore.

In shock she scrabbled for her phone and dialled a number.

“Hi,” she said as the police operator answered. “It’s Sally Donovan, I need to speak to the boss.”


	33. An Awakening

Stiff and disorientated, the first thing John noticed was that his ‘pillow’ was warm, fairly solid, and smelled nice.

The next was that he appeared to have either a large warm spider, or a very odd shaped hat woven into his hair. Carefully moving his hand to his head he encountered fingers, long and slim, relaxed.

Feeling a blush warming his cheeks he eased himself up, rubbing his hands over his face and getting stiffly to his feet.  Deciding that he needed tea he headed towards the kitchen, and had barely taken two steps before walking into something solid that caught him just below the knee, and sent him tumbling forwards.

He hit the floor with a yelp.

“John!” Sherlock was awake instantly, and kneeling beside the fallen man. “John I’m so sorry, are you hurt?” He waited; anxiously watching as John slowly sat up and rubbed absently at his cheek.

“Nothing broken,” he mumbled, “but I’ll have a bruise or two. What did I walk into?”

“My legs.” Sherlock admitted, shamefaced. “You were so tired I didn’t want to disturb you by moving, so I put my feet up on the coffee table and fell asleep.”

Gently he helped John to his feet.

 “I’m so sorry,” Sherlock said again. “Can I get you anything?”

John’s lips twitched. “Yeah, some breakfast.”


	34. And Another

A light tapping on the office door woke Sally.  The result of her call last night to Lestrade was that he had offered her the use of the camp bed and blankets he kept in a cupboard, a throwback to the days when he and his wife were still together and fighting.

The door cracked open a fraction.

“Are you decent?” Lestrade sounded tired. “I’ve brought you coffee.”

“Yes Sir,” She scrambled out of the blankets and started to fold them. “What time is it?”

“It’s early, not quite 6am.” The grey haired detective pushed into the office with a cup in each hand. “Did you sleep okay?”

“I did eventually thanks, and thanks for letting me sleep here.”

Lestrade sat at his desk, sipped his coffee then shook his head.

“No problem Sal, you were scared and I can’t say I blame you. Initial forensic evidence shows your old school friend’s neck was expertly broken by someone using their bare hands.” He watched as tears welled up in her eyes.

“Were you two close?”

“Not really, not since she started working for the Government, but every month or so, work permitting, we’d meet for lunch, or coffee…” Sally’s voice cracked, and she sat down and cried.

And Greg wondered how to tell her that her good friend had gone bad.


	35. Oh What a Tangled Web

“Her boss Mr Holmes, he knew we were friends, and when the crash came he gave me some information for her.” Sally had taken the news of her friend’s perfidy quite calmly. “He said I’d know when to pass it on.”

“And did you?”

“When his younger brother Sherlock went missing, I realised that was the trigger.”

“And what was the information?” Greg leaned towards her.

“It was a couple of names.” She whispered brokenly. “But I only glanced at them once; I didn’t recognise either of them.”

With a nod Greg gestured to the door.

“Okay.  Go get a shower and change. You’re on office duties until we catch the killer.”

xXx

Greg’s mobile vibrated as he watched Sally walk away.

“Lestrade.”

“The information is missing from the house.” Barrymore snapped.

“So someone knew what to look for?”

“Fortunately she’d already given me the names, but now someone else knows too. You have to find them.”

“And do you know where to find these people?” Greg asked.

“She was going to tell me last night.” The gang leader fumed. “I want you to trace them for me.” He closed the call.

xXx

After a moment’s thought Greg made a call.

“He has the names, but can’t contact them.” He said without preamble. “Hopefully this will give us time to make a breakthrough.”


	36. The Purloined Paper

Showered and changed John joined Sherlock in the living room, where the latter was looking at the piece of paper he had purloined from Anthea’s house.

Staring at his brother’s handwriting, Sherlock wondered if Mycroft knew his trusted PA had betrayed him, had he even seen the news report.

He looked up as John slid into his chair and leaned forward, sightless eyes turned towards him.

“You have the names from last night?”

“I do,” Sherlock smoothed the paper absent-mindedly. “I know one of them, not the other.”

“Okay, that’s a start at least. D’you know where he is?”

Sherlock shook his head.

John cleared his throat, and as he looked up at him the younger man realised his mistake.

“Sorry, I forgot.” He mumbled, provoking a chuckle from the other man.

“That’s okay,” John assured him. “You’ll get used to it. So, do you?”

“No. Mycroft always played his cards close to his chest.”

“Damn.” Scratching his head John thought for a moment. “Who are they?”

“Matthew Reader, I know him. He was my brother’s personal protection officer.” With a sigh he contemplated the other name. “The other is Neville Drury, never come across him before.”

“Okay Sherlock, I’m going to call in some help,” John pulled out his phone, adding “You see what you can remember about brother’s bodyguard.”


	37. Trapped

“Sally,” Greg said quietly. “Come in and close the door will you?”

He sat back in his chair and waited until she had taken a seat opposite.

“Look, I know this has been rough on you, and I’m afraid it’s going to get rougher.” With a sigh he pushed a piece of paper across the desk towards her. “Do you recognise either of these names?”

Running her fingers through her hair the Detective Sergeant looked at the writing, paling slightly as she looked up at him.

“These are the names I passed on to Anthea….” She said hoarsely. “But how did you get them.?”

“And you said you didn’t know them?  Didn’t know who they are or where we might find them?”

“No, I have no idea”

Slowly, Sally rose to her feet.

“How did you get those names?” she asked again, her eyes darting between the door and the paper still sitting on the desk.

“I think you’ve already worked that out.” Came the quiet response as Greg also rose and walked around the desk.

Sally darted for the door, but Lestrade was too quick for her, grasping her wrist and pulling her back, putting himself between her and the only exit.

“Who’s side are you on?” Sally hissed, looking down at the fingers gripping her hard enough to bruise.


	38. Scouting Party

John stood staring blindly out of the window, his head tilted slightly as if listening for something specific.

“Do you miss it?” Sherlock asked, and then with a hiss of disgust answered his own question. “Yes of course you must!”

He moved closer, so close that a deep breath now would bring his chest in contact with John’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” It was said sharply, almost defensively. “I’m not in need of pity.”

“I didn’t…”

But the moment was lost in the sound of footsteps clattering up the stairs. There was a light tap on the door, and it opened to reveal a young girl with greasy blond hair.  Behind her was Paul, one of the youths Sherlock had met the day he was rescued.

“Hi Doc!” the girl said brightly, grabbing him and pulling him in for a hug.

“Kallie, are you looking after yourself okay?”

“Always the mother hen.” She rolled her eyes as the four of them sat down.

“What’ve you got for us then Doc?”

“A search job Kallie.  Sherlock here has a name and some vague information. I need you to visit the libraries and check electoral rolls.” John handed her a piece of paper with all that Sherlock could remember written on it.

“Where do we start then?”

Sherlock looked at her. “Battersea.”


	39. Team Watson

After accepting tea and toast Kallie and Paul left, each with a note of the names they were looking for, Kallie heading for Battersea, Paul to the upmarket St Catherine’s Dock area of east London.

“Hopefully Kallie will find Reader fairly easily.” John sighed as he sat down. “Unless he’s moved or been taken.”

“Who are these people?”

“The kids?  Homeless mainly, I started helping them before I lost my sight, now they help me.”

“You trust them?” Sherlock was genuinely curious. 

“With my life and yours.” John replied seriously. “I’ve never forced confidences from them, and I’ve never judged them. They in turn have felt able to come to me when they need help. We’ve built up a good relationship.”

“That’s something of an understatement.”

“Be grateful for it. With them I hope to get word to your brother that you’re safe, and then with his help we want to start trying to turn this whole unholy mess around.”

“Watson’s warriors?”

John chuckled at that.

“No, the ones that you’ve met call themselves Team Watson; they are the inner circle if you will. All told there are around a hundred others.”

Sherlock whistled softly through his teeth.

“Where does my brother come into it?” he asked.

“I’ve been told that he has been working towards crushing the Taliban drug barons.”


	40. A Truth to be Told (part 1)

Sally sunk back into her chair, her eyes on the DI, rubbing at her bruised wrist.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“That depends on you.” Greg looked down at her from where he leant against the door. “I need to be sure I can trust you.”

“Hah! That’s rich, coming from someone who is obviously working with one of our most vicious gang leaders.”

“You think so?” the older man shook his head gently. “You realise how bad it looks for you passing information to that same gang leader’s girlfriend?”

“But I didn’t know!” Sally insisted, her voice rising sharply as she tried to make her point. “She was an old school friend!  And if her boss didn’t know what hope could I have?”

Hazel eyes bored into her as she stared back up at him, and after a few minutes Greg seemed to come to a decision.

Glancing over his shoulder as if to make sure no-one else was listening in he stepped away from the door, moving round to sit back behind his desk.  Her eyes followed him as he moved.

“God help me if I’ve read you wrong here Sally,” he said at last. “But I’m willing to take that chance and trust you.”

He leaned forward.

“I’m working for someone who wants Barrymore broken.”


	41. A Confidence Shared

“Working for….” Sally’s brain was in overdrive, and she was having difficulty processing the Detective Inspector’s words. “You mean, other than the Met.”

Greg smiled and wondered if she realised how stupid her words sounded, but the shock on her face was genuine, and he was relieved to see it.  For all her faults Sally Donovan was the force equivalent of Brighton rock- slice her open and the words Metropolitan Police ran right through her.

“There’s a small group of people I came across some time ago, while I was making connections and infiltrating Barrymore’s little private army.”

“So you’ve been passing information on to them?”

“And doctored information to Barrymore.” He watched carefully for any signs that he’d misread her allegiances, but there was no gleam of triumph, no scheming look in her eyes as they met his.

“How can I help?”

 “Well,” he leaned back in his chair, relaxed for the first time since Anthea’s body had been found. “First I have to let them know that you’re with me in this.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “But while you do that is there nothing I can be doing to help?”

Greg thought for a moment.

“Actually I could use your research skills.” Pausing, he added “We have a rogue informant at the Yard; I want you to find the bastard.”


	42. A Truth to be Told (Part 2)

Chewing his lower lip, Sherlock listened to the clatter of John washing up the breakfast things mingling with the sound of Radio 4. 

He’d never really considered himself to be the type of person to actually find himself enjoying the company of another, but lately he had found the companionship pleasing.

To him John Watson was something of an enigma.  A doctor and soldier, also benefactor to and leader of a small army of homeless, and he had a matter of fact way of dealing with his blindness, not letting it get in the way of the work he had taken it upon himself to do.

The man himself attracted him in ways he hadn’t anticipated too. There was that smile. The first time he’d seen it Sherlock  had not only felt reassured, he had felt that for the first time ever someone actually cared what happened to him. That in itself was enough to make him think long and hard about coming clean, about telling him.

Sherlock missed the sound of the radio being switched off, and jumped slightly when John walked in and sat opposite him.

“You okay?” the older man asked.

Sherlock swallowed convulsively.

“John, there’s something you should know.” He said reluctantly. “I’m the scientist that’s been working on separating the drugs from the compound chemical binder.”


	43. Reasons

Silence descended on the Baker Street flat, and Sherlock expected John’s next words to be ones of accusation or rejection, yet not for the first time the man surprised him.

“Thank you, I had thought as much, but I wouldn’t have pushed it, those kinds of confidences can’t be forced.”

Sherlock blinked.

“You’re not angry?”

“Why should I be?” Shifting slightly in his chair John made himself comfortable. “You’re a scientist, a good one by all accounts….”

“One of the best” Sherlock declared.

“….and if your brother didn’t make use of a resource so close to home then he’s a fool; and you don’t get to his position in the government by missing opportunities.”

“As soon as he discovered how they were bringing the drugs into the country, he asked me to work on ways to reverse the procedure, so that we could identify which shipments contained drugs with a simple test.”

“And destroy it before it hit the streets?”

“Yes.”

There was something in the way he said it that caught John’s interest.

“Why get involved?” He asked eventually. “There must have been a driving factor.”

“The binding agent caused contamination of the product.” Sherlock explained. “It takes a while, but the cumulative effect is highly poisonous. He got involved when my recreational use put me in a hospital bed.”


	44. Disappointment

“Why?”

“Like I said the cumulative effect….”

“Sherlock, I’m not stupid. Neither are you for that matter, so I’ll ask again; why were you using?” John had tried to keep his voice even, but there was a thread of disappointment that his companion couldn’t fail to pick up.

And he did.  Immediately defensive, Sherlock shrugged forgetting again that the other man couldn’t see him, and rubbed his hands over his face, mumbling as he did so.

“What?” John cocked his head slightly as if that would help him understand.

“I said I needed something, anything, to make me feel, help me to lose myself” Sherlock snarled, flinging himself out of his chair to pace up and down the living room. “You don’t know what it’s like, day in day out, with thoughts skittering around and around, no outlet for them, nothing to satisfy that need….”

“What need?” John stood up and reached out; grabbing the front of Sherlock’s shirt more by luck than anything else, and he pulled the taller man up close.

“What need Sherlock? What need could possibly make you risk your life, risk that incredible scientific brain- oh yes, I know it’s incredible, why else would your brother trust you to find the answers? So tell me, what need?”

“The need,” Sherlock whispered. “To take away the boredom.”


	45. The Promise

His hand still wrapped in the front of Sherlock’s shirt, John drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes.  Whatever excuse he had expected from the other man, that wasn’t it. Boredom? It was ridiculous.

On the table his phone started to ring, but John ignored it.

“Shouldn’t you……”

“No.”

“But it might be important.”

Uncurling his fingers from the soft material, John splayed his hand against Sherlock’s chest, unconsciously leaning into him.

“The call can wait, this however can’t.” John dropped his chin on his chest, thinking. “How long have you been clean?”

“Just over two years, since I came out of hospital.” The warmth of John’s hand, and his nearness, was almost as heady a drug to Sherlock as the cocaine had once been. “The work kept me busy, focussed. Then there was Moriarty.”

“Yes Moriarty.” John moved away. Sherlock was bereft. “You weren’t tempted by what he had to offer?”

“My brother and I don’t have the best relationship, but I wouldn’t sell him into the hands of a madman for the promise of unlimited access to drugs.”

John nodded.

“Okay.” He turned his face towards the younger man. “But if you’re to stay here you’ve got to stay clean.”

“I promise.” Sherlock said, strangely relieved. “And this is a promise I have no intention of breaking.”


	46. Place of Safety

Amid the hive of activity in New Scotland Yard, Greg and Sally sat and discussed options.

“Well I can’t let you go home.” Greg felt like he’d said this a hundred times. “You know that Barrymore is aware that you were the original handler for the information.”

“But I can’t sleep here forever!” Sally too was getting fed up with this conversation.  All she wanted to do was find somewhere safe to stay.

“No you can’t, but until I can come up with something better I suggest you get used to it – at least I can be sure you’ll still be alive when I come in to work in the morning.”

Through her frustration Sally could hear the sincerity in the DI’s voice, see his concerns writ clearly in the lines on his face.

In a sudden decisive move, Greg stood up and reached for his coat.

“With me Sergeant, you and I need a change of scene.” He stalked from the room, knowing that Donovan was following.

They left the building they turned towards Victoria Street, and the quiet little coffee shop that Greg liked to frequent.

“Look,” he said “There’s a simple fix here.”

Sally looked at him hopefully.

“If you don’t mind working nights, then you can sleep during the day, at my flat, in the spare bedroom.”


	47. The Work

John sat, eyes closed, thinking.

Sitting opposite him Sherlock watched as the smaller man tapped out a nameless tune with his fingers as he turned various things over in his mind. John had hardly said anything since his confession and promise not to use drugs while in 221B, and Sherlock was uncomfortably aware that he was most likely the object of the other man’s musings.

“Where did you do your research?”

“I had a small laboratory set up in Balcombe Street; I did a lot of my experiments there.”

“Then I assume the results of your work are already in Barrymore’s hands.” John sat up, pinched the bridge of his nose and frowned. “There’s not a hope in hell that he won’t have turned your place over when he took you.”

“I came home and found the lock had been forced. They were lying in wait.” Sherlock’s voice was filled with self-loathing. “I should have realised, got out while I could.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it; Barrymore would have had the area flooded with his goons.”

“Was that what happened to you?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” He rubbed his hands along his thighs, agitated. “If he’s got your notes then it won’t be long before….”

“No.” Sherlock interrupted. “My notes were always kept safe, with an old friend at St Bart’s.”


	48. The Faithful Friend

“St Bart’s? Not sure how safe that is then, its smack in the middle of Barrymore’s patch.” The beginnings of hope started to deflate. “We may have to find another way of recreating….”

“I don’t think so.” Sherlock interrupted. “My friend is not the most noticeable person in the world.”

“Really?  Who is it, the cleaner?”

Sherlock threw him an irritated glare.

“His name’s Mike Stamford, he’s a lecturer at the med school and…what?” He stopped, noticing the grin on John’s face.

“’Bout the same height as me, chubby, wears glasses?”

“Not chubby; fat.”

“And he’s still at Bart’s?  Bloody hell, I was a student with Mike! I’m not surprised he’s teaching now though, always was a swot.”

“Then you know what I mean.”

“Okay.” John retreated into his thinking mode. “Did you leave Mike with any instructions regarding your notes? You know, like ‘destroy them if I don’t come back’?” he asked.

“No, my brother would know to go to him, or at least send someone he knows.”

“Wait here.” Suddenly John jumped up, and headed out of the flat. 

Sherlock listened to him trot carefully downstairs and knock on Mrs Hudson’s door. Ten minutes he was back with a big grin on his face.

“Right, we need to get the notes, you now have a laboratory- in the basement.”

 


	49. Lost Treasure

Sherlock’s eyes lit up like a child at Christmas, and just as quickly that light died.

“What about equipment? Mine was destroyed.”  He ruffled his fingers through his hair. “And chemicals, I’ll need to replace the chemicals.”

“What else?”

“Nothing else, Mike has the notes, and a number of the items I was experimenting on.”

“No, that’s not it.” John frowned. “It’s your voice. You sounded sad when you mentioned your equipment being destroyed. What else?”

“My violin,” Sherlock replied softly. “My grandfather left me his Stradivarius; it was my relaxation, my means of stilling the rush of thoughts that would keep me awake for days on end.” He sighed. “Playing my violin was as natural to me as breathing. I daren’t hope that they ignored it.”

John's hand rubbed across his forehead as he nodded in understanding.

“Sherlock, I’m sorry about that. I hate Barrymore’s destructive nature, but that won’t fix the damage he’s caused.” He moved closer, his hand unerringly finding its way to Sherlock’s shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze. “Mrs Hudson is making arrangements for some equipment for you, let me know if you need anything else once that’s in. Meanwhile, we need to collect your notes from Mike.”

“You’re right,” Sherlock said, shaking off his melancholy. “The sooner we get them, the sooner I can begin.”


	50. The Insider

On the outside the building looked like an ordinary house to office conversion, and the name JB Consultancy was ordinary enough given the central London location.

On the inside however, once past the opulent reception area the building was a hive of industry. One room was genuinely given over to a team of financial consultants, but the rest of the house was the heart of Barrymore’s criminal network.

From the same office where he had instructed Lestrade to flush out the traitor on his payroll he sent two of his thugs to dispose of the bad apples, and now he sat staring blindly at the papers that would give him leverage over his rival Openshaw, seething over the telephone conversation he had just had.

_“Sally Donovan has moved out of her flat, and she slept last night in Lestrade’s office.”_

_“He took a call last night while he was at the house, could’ve been her.”_

_“Well she couldn’t stay there without his okay on it. Trouble is I don’t know where she is now.”_

_Barrymore waited._

_“She… er… she and Lestrade went out, he’s been back about an hour but I haven’t seen her.”_

_“Did you ask?”_

_“Greg said she was following some leads on an armed robbery in the West End. I couldn’t really push it.”_

_“Just find the bitch!”_


	51. Assessing the Risk

Greg wasn’t naïve enough to think that Donovan’s participation had gone unnoticed by the gang leaders, someone would have been looking for her and noticed that she had left her flat late last night.

Until the other officer on Barrymore’s payroll had been identified he knew he had to be careful who he trusted.  Shutting himself in his office he picked up his mobile and dialled.

“I imagine you already know that my sergeant, Sally Donovan, is no longer staying in her flat.” He said as soon as the phone was answered. “You may not be aware that she slept the night in my office and that I had the opportunity to question her thoroughly this morning.”

“And?” Barrymore snarled.

“And I’m certain that she has no idea of the content or significance of the information she passed to Miss Smith.” He said calmly, knowing the other man wouldn’t believe him.

“Good. Where is she now?”

 “Staying with friends. I’ve given her an easy case to work, something to take her mind off things.”

There was a moment of silence at the other end of the phone.

“Be here in an hour.”

“Yes Sir.” But Greg was talking to a dead line. He thought quickly, and then dialled another number.

“Sally listen, stay in the flat, and keep the door bolted.”


	52. Covering All Bases

Opening his office door, Greg sent an officer to the canteen to pick him up a coffee, then shut himself back in and once more picked up his phone.

As his call was answered he could hear the sound of traffic in the background, muted and muffled.

“Can you talk?”

“In a cab, can listen though. What’s up?”

“Not sure, maybe nothing, but Barrymore has summoned me to his office.”

“That doesn’t sound good.  What do you need?”

“Sending up a prayer that I can pull this off would be a start,” Greg laughed, but there was little humour in it. “That aside, if I don’t make it out of there in one piece there’s something that I need you to do for me.”

“Anything Greg, you know that.”

Yeah, I know.” He paused as the officer knocked on the door and delivered the beverage, nodding his thanks and waiting until the door was once more firmly shut. “You know my sergeant, Sally Donovan?  She’s using my place as a safe house. If I don’t get back keep her safe for me?”

“Of course. I’ll get someone to keep an eye on you at Barrymore’s too, just in case.”

“Thanks for everything John,” he said as he finished the call. “You’re not just a good guy; you’re one of the best.”


	53. At St. Barts

“Who was that?” Sherlock asked as they crossed the pavement to the hospital entrance, his voice low.

“An old friend of mine, Greg Lestrade.”  John shook his head, anticipating another question.  “Don’t ask more now, not in here, I’ll tell you more later.”

Side by side they walked the corridors, heading in silence towards the small office where Dr Mike Stamford prepared his lectures.

With the briefest knock at the door Sherlock pushed it open, ushering John in ahead of him.

“John?  John Watson?” Mike sounded shocked.  He took a step forward then realised that someone else had stepped through the door.  “Sherlock? What’s going on? What have you done to your hair?”

“Hello Mike.” John smiled in the direction of the voice

“Mike.  I need my notes and samples.”

“John, what happened to you? Why are you two together.”

“Same old Mike, questioning everything.” John chuckled. “Safer if you don’t ask this time though mate, Sherlock and I fell foul of a local gang leader.”

Mike’s eyes widened.

“Oh God,” he groaned, his voice a whisper. “Barrymore. Okay, let me get your stuff.”

Mike dug the book and samples out of a store cupboard, watching as they stowed them in various pockets.

As they prepared to leave he said. “John, Sherlock, remember; come to me if you need a bolthole.”


	54. Watchful Eyes

Despite the precious items they were carrying, John steered Sherlock in the direction of Postman’s Park, a little haven of green hidden from the rest of the city.

Once inside its gates he tapped his way along to an unoccupied seat and sat down.

“Why are we here?” Sherlock was looking around, concerned that they were wasting time but approving the fact that no one could approach without him seeing them.

“Trying to appear normal – if we rush around looking furtive we’ll draw attention to ourselves.” John pulled out his phone. “Also I want to make a quick call.”

His call was to Keith, asking him to watch out for Lestrade, and to let him know if the older man didn’t get out of Barrymore’s headquarters within an hour or two.  Pausing after the call, he quickly dialled another number.

“Kallie? Any joy?”

“No Doc, not so far.”

“Okay thanks, keep trying.” He turned his face towards Sherlock.  “Is there no other way to contact your brother?”

“Short of putting an advertisement in the Times, no.”

“Missing. One brother, answers to the name of Mycroft…..”  John began.

“Last seen hunting cake….” Sherlock finished for him.

John snorted.  Sherlock spluttered. Suddenly they were doubled up with laughter, so much so that they didn’t notice the interested stare of the lady passing by.


	55. Into the Lion's Den

Keith arrived, breathless, outside the offices of JB Consultants just in time to see Lestrade enter the building. Noting the time on his mobile phone, he popped his earphones in and switched on his old-fashioned MP3 player.

Inside the building, Greg was escorted through the reception, and up the steep curved staircase to Barrymore’s office.

“Wait here.” The gruff voiced heavy said, waving towards a seat. “Boss will call you when he’s ready.”

Taking a seat, Greg looked around him. This wasn’t the first time he’d been here, but this time he was nervous.  Barrymore had given the impression he hadn’t believed his cover story for Sally, and he feared for both their lives.

He wasn’t left for long, as the door opened and a competent looking secretary walked out, smiling and telling him that Mr Barrymore would see him now.  Greg rose and walked through the door.

“You wanted to see me.” It was a statement not a question, and it had Barrymore’s head whipping up.

“You let Sally go – how can you be sure she’s trustworthy?”

“You don’t spend as long in this job as I have and not know when someone is telling the truth when they say they know nothing.”

“Be that as it may she was Anthea’s friend, and like it or not Anthea was betrayed.”


	56. The Laboratory

Sherlock and John were still sniggering about Mycroft’s cake hunt when they finally climbed out of the cab outside 221B Baker Street.

With a quick glance up and down the street, Sherlock’s keen eyes picked out Gary and Andy, both looking busy yet inconspicuous, both keeping a close watch on the building.

He noted that Gary acknowledged him with the barest nod of his head, and he said as much to John once they were inside.

“Of course.” John replied in an off-hand manner. “They know you’re on our side, they’ve accepted you into the fold.”

“Like a sheep?”

“Yeah, like you’re very sheepish!” John grinned and started towards the stairs.

“Boys!” Mrs Hudson called as she walked up from the basement flat and with a flourish handed a key to Sherlock.

“I’ve kitted it out with the best equipment I could manage.” She stepped back as he flew down the stairs, with John following carefully behind.

Standing in the doorway to what should have been a kitchen he listened as Sherlock moved around, mumbling the names of the pieces of equipment, exclaiming over the quality of it all.

Smiling at his friend’s enthusiasm, John edged over to a work surface and unloaded the samples he was carrying.

“You have fun here,” he said. “I’m going up to make a brew.”


	57. Quick Thinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise to those wonderful readers that have read, followed and given me encouraging comments if this reminder seems superfluous, but following a comment received on chapter 56, may I remind those who seem to have missed the point that this is a story written in 221B format and not posted one paragraph at a time.  
> To Daring D, Doctor_Tinycat, 1butterfly_grl1,Oldpinghai, OtakuElf, MapleleafCameo and the many others who have been so nice and complementary to me - THANK YOU! I couldn't do it without you!

Being under the scrutiny of one of the most vicious gang leaders since the Kray Twins was a nerve wracking business, but Greg didn’t betray his fear by so much as a twitch as the corpulent career criminal leaned across the desk and ranted.

“Where she is now?”

“At her friend’s place.” Greg shrugged with feigned nonchalance. “I’m not expecting her back in the office for a while.”

“And what about this ‘easy case’ you’ve given her?”

“Armed robbery in south London, I’ve sent her to the investigating officer as a critical friend, looking over their casework.”

Close enough to the truth, planning ahead, he’d offered her services to an old friend on the force in Woolwich. What he wasn’t admitting was timescales; the casework wouldn’t be ready for at least another fortnight.

“As soon as she’s back I want you to let me know.” Frustration had Barrymore pacing the room. “Now get out. Don’t come back until you can give me Donovan!”

With a brief nod, Greg made a quick escape.

Keith breathed a sigh of relief seeing the older man coming out of the building. He watched as Lestrade walked away, then he waited….

Just as he expected, another figure left the building, shadowing the older man. Keith grabbed his phone.

“John, your friend has picked up a bug.”


	58. The Dipper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again - thanks everyone for your support!

Keith thought quickly, and taking a deep breath he broke into a run, coming up fast behind Barrymore’s lackey, barging into him and clumsily slipping a hand into his pocket as if ‘dipping’ him.

“Oi! You little shit!  Stop that kid, he just picked my pocket!” The lackey shouted making a grab for the young man and missing.

Greg heard the shout and turned, seeing the homeless kid running towards him followed fairly closely by a familiar looking man. He reached out and grabbed the kids arm, realising immediately that the boy’s struggles were more for show than anything, and he held him quite easily until the victim drew near.

“Is this the lad, Sir?” Lestrade flashed his warrant card.

“That’s him, picked my pocket.” The aggrieved lackey poked a finger close to Keith’s face.

“I didn’t, I just knocked into him.”

“You lying little….”

Greg held up a hand.

“What has he taken?”

The lackey stopped trying to get hold of Keith and patted down his pockets.

“Um….nothing.  I um, well he…”

“Not to worry sir, easy mistake to make.” Greg soothed. “Leave the boy with me I’ll talk some sense into him.”

They stood together, watching the lackey go back the way he had come.

“John sent me Mr Lestrade,” Keith said quietly. “Told me to watch your back.”

 


	59. An Old Friend

The sound of voices up in the flat drew Sherlock’s attention away from his new and spacious laboratory, and he ran up the stairs two at time.

“Ah, Sherlock, can you come here and give me a hand please?” John asked as he heard his friend walk in.

Entering the kitchen Sherlock saw the doctor carefully bathing a young man’s arm.

“I can’t feel any glass in there, I’d appreciate your eyes on it though.”

Looking closely, the long gash looked clean and glass free and Sherlock said as much. John nodded his head and started to wrap a light bandage around the arm.

“Sherlock meet Sammy, he and I have helped each other more times than I can remember.”

Sherlock nodded at the young boy, who grinned back.

“Sammy has been doing a little job for me.”

“Doc sent me to your place. Sorry, I had to break a window to get in.”

“And?”

Sammy hopped off the kitchen stool and picked up a large sports bag which he handed over.  Sherlock peered inside.  With a gasp he pulled out his violin case, opening it and smoothing a loving hand over the Stradivarius within.

“I found that skull too.” Sammy said.  “Thought you’d like him back.”

Skull?” John asked.

“An old friend.” Sherlock smiled, placing it on the mantlepiece. “Billy”


	60. Maestro

Mrs Hudson collected up the remains of the casserole and took it back downstairs, taking Sammy with her.

“It was good of Mrs H to feed the boy.” Sherlock said, sitting on the edge of the leather armchair that he had claimed as his own.

“She always looks after the kids, when they’ll let her.” John sat opposite him and stretched out his legs, leaning back into the chair and closing his eyes. “Some are too independent, or too distrustful.”

“Sammy’s seems a good kid.”

“Hmm. What’s the story with the skull?”

Sherlock looked up at the mantlepiece.

“I like to have someone to talk to, someone to discuss ideas with.”

“Someone who won’t answer back, or sell your secrets?”

“Something like that.” Picking up the violin, Sherlock settled it under his chin and after a few tentative strokes of the bow he started to play a sonata, lifting himself from the chair and moving to stand to one side of the fire.

Looking through his unruly curls, he saw John relax as the music filled the room, the tension around his eyes eased as a smile turned up the corners of his lips.

Swaying in time to the music, Sherlock’s eyes never left the other man, and as the music ended he remained standing, waiting.

John sighed. “That was beautiful.”


	61. Contingencies

Sweating somewhat over his meeting with Barrymore and his close call with the shadow, Greg took on board the warning implicit in Keith’s words.  Watching his back. More to the point, keeping Sally safe.

Making it appear as if nothing was wrong, he returned to his office and sat for an hour at his desk, refreshing his passwords on his computer and sending an urgent text to Sally.

On receipt of her reply, he pulled a few files up onto his desktop, then closed his computer and with a brief ‘Good night’ to his team, made his way home.

Sally was sitting on the couch in the dim early evening light when he arrived home, looking up as he opened the door.

“Lay down.” He instructed once he’d closed the door.

Puzzled, she obeyed; watching as he turned the light on then crossed to the close the curtains.

“Can’t be sure they’re not watching the flat.” Greg explained, turning the television on just loud enough to muffle their conversation. “Barrymore tried to have me followed when I left his office, and he’s keen to get his hands on you.”

“I’d better go, I’ve caused you enough trouble as it is, Sir.”

“Greg. And no, I’ve worked out a way we can do this.” He grinned. “By getting information via the backdoor.” 


	62. The Plan

Sally frowned, her confusion less at being instructed to call her boss by his name than the thought that they could get the information they needed without her going into the office.

“It’s going to take a little ingenuity,” Greg continued, “whoever the mole is; he or she may well be tracking any movement on your computer.”

“But you just said….”

“I know, but I think I’ve worked it out.”  He accepted the cup of coffee she passed to him with a nod of thanks.  “If you access my computer remotely, you can work on tracing whoever the bad apple is.”

 “Yeah…… yeah that could work.” She said enthusiastically. “I’ve had a few ideas where to start looking, should I log on tonight?”

“No, it would be best if you only do it while I’m in the office.  I have enough paperwork backed up that I can stay in the office and delegate some outside stuff.” He handed her the remote log on details.

“Okay, I’m assuming we don’t want to go for the bank accounts yet?”

“No, I need a special warrant for that; we’ll make that the closing move once we are 99% certain of our quarry.”

With a nod Sally made a few more notes.

“We have to make a case that they won’t be able to break”


	63. Good News

 John lost himself in the sound of Sherlock’s violin; there was no doubting the man was a skilful player, and despite Sammy hurriedly throwing in a whole ream of sheet music he was playing from memory.

It sounded perfect, and the music was soothing, peaceful, and as echoes of the last note faded John stood and stretched.

“Lovely.” He said softly. “Almost the perfect lullaby, think I’ll turn in for the night.”

He didn’t see Sherlock’s heated glance, but he felt the tap of the violin bow against his arm.

“What?”

“Your friend Kallie has just crossed the road.” Sherlock wasn’t sure why he was whispering, “I’ll get the door.”

John listened to the younger man’s feet tripping lightly down the stairs, Kallie’s skirl of surprise when the door was opened before she had even knocked, and her hushed voice chattering excitedly.

“Doc, we think we’ve found both of them!” Kallie rushed into the flat and grasped John’s arm. “Paul’s got a picture of a Neville Drury, lives in a posh flat in Maple Quays. Thank God he had such an unusual name.”

“Doesn’t help, I don’t know what he looks like.” Sherlock sighed.

“I know, but I found a Matthew Reader in Lavender Hill who might know him.” She showed Sherlock a photo on her phone. “Is this your bloke?”


	64. Lavender Hill

It was barely light when Kallie led John up to the front door of the pre-war terraced town house, then slipping away to stand with Sherlock in the shadows.

John knocked a couple of times before a light showed through the glass over the door, and he heard footsteps moving softly down the passage.

The door opened and a chain rattled.

“Who the hell are you?” The voice was well spoken, although not naturally so.

“Mr Reader?”

“Who wants to know?”

“Mr Reader, you may have been expecting Miss Anthea Smith to contact you with regard to the disappearance of her employer’s brother.” John kept his voice low and calm. “May I come in and discuss this with you?”

“Miss Smith is dead.”

“I know, but I’d still rather not discuss this on the doorstep.”

With a nod Matthew Reader slid the chain off, opening the door and waiting as John stepped in.

The door closed with a sharp snap, and John felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed against his temple.

“You really blind?” Reader kicked at John’s stick with his toe.

“I am.”

“Yet you’re sure you’ve got the right man. Why?”

“The answer’s on your doorstep.”

After a pause, Reader pushed John against the wall and cracked the door open.  What he saw made his eyes bulge.


	65. Territory

06.30am, and three explosions ripped through the WC1 area of London.

The shrill ringing of his mobile dragged Greg from a restless sleep, and he cursed as he squinted at his alarm clock.

“Lestrade.” He croaked, trying to clear the muzzy feeling from his tired brain.

“Good morning Sir, I’ve been asked to advise you of a series of incidents in the Bloomsbury area.” The voice of the control room supervisor pushed away the last threads of sleep.

“Series of incidents?”

“Three explosions Sir, we have army EOD on route to a fourth suspect package outside the Brunswick Shopping Centre.”

“Oh Jesus!  Anyone hurt?” As he spoke Greg was pulling clothes from drawers and wardrobes.

“No numbers confirmed as yet. DI Gregson has gone to the scene at Old Gloucester Street and DI Dimmock to Boswell Street. They’re expecting you at the Endsleigh Square scene.”

“Right, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Should I contact Sergeant Donovan?”

Greg pulled on his dressing gown and moved to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

“No, Donovan is on loan at the moment, can you alert Detective Constable Greenaway, and ask him to get the team together.”

Putting the phone down he looked up to see Sally standing in the doorway.

“The struggle for territory has started,” he said. “With bombs.”


	66. Another Day, Another Murder

“Do you need me to come with you?” Sally asked, sitting at the kitchen table.

“Too dangerous.” Lestrade was hastily swallowed a quick breakfast. “No, I think we go ahead as planned. When you access my computer you’ll see that I’ve put those files you suggested on the front screen.”

Once in his car Greg forced his mind away from the vulnerable woman he had left working in his flat, making the journey to Bloomsbury in record time. He pulled up outside the cordoned off, bomb damaged house.

Ducking under the tape he walked over to Detective Constable Greenaway who was standing with the senior fire officer, Sub Officer O’Neill.

“What have we got?” he asked the younger man while nodding to acknowledge the fireman.

“The house belongs to one Peter Openshaw, local gang leader, runs the WC1 area.” Greenaway looked up from his notes. “We don’t know yet if he was home, the neighbours weren’t sure”

Greg turned to the fire officer.

“Was it a device?”

“We’re treating it as such. We’ve checked for secondary devices, it’s clear.” O’Neill glanced up at the building. “Not what you expect in an area like this.”

Greg opened his mouth to ask a question but was interrupted by another firemen hurrying to report to the senior fire officer.

“Sir, we’ve found a body.”


	67. Making the Connection

Sherlock stepped through the door, leaning back against it and looking at the stupefied bodyguard.

“I would appreciate it Mr Reader if you would remove your gun from my friend’s head. My brother needs all the allies he can get at the moment.”

He glanced at John, who was obviously listening for something, and realised immediately what he was missing.

“She went back home.” He said, and was rewarded with a smile that said he’d done the right thing, not mentioning names or insisting she come inside.

“Mr Holmes, we thought you’d been taken.” Reader spoke up, putting the safety back on the gun and motioning them to follow him through to the lounge.

“The plan was that once we had confirmation that you were actually taken, and not just away for a couple of days, the person your brother had trusted with the names of the two people who knew where he would be was to pass them to Anthea, and she was to contact us.”

“Anthea sold out to the other side.” Sherlock muttered bitterly. “Her latest boyfriend was John Barrymore.”

Reading whistled.

“We think we’ve found Neville Drury, once you can confirm we have the right man you need to contact my brother.”

“And then we need to talk to him,” John added. “To plan the first battle.”


	68. Research and Developments

Dragging her thoughts away from the bombs and the turf war, Sally settled down at the kitchen table with her laptop and notepad.

Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she opened up the files that had been pulled up for her, and one by one she started to eliminate possible suspects.

By lunchtime she was down to four people that had the position to be of use to Barrymore, and at least one had a gambling habit, which on the surface looked to be under control, but warranted deeper investigation.

Pushing aside her work she made another cup of coffee, and helped herself to the makings of a cheese sandwich then switched on the portable TV on the work unit and watched the one o’clock news.

She watched as Lestrade was interviewed by the BBC news crew, followed by identical statements from Gregson and Dimmock at the other scenes, then finishing her lunch she flipped the television off and pulled her laptop back towards her.

As it powered up again, she realised that she had seen something. Something so commonplace that it was easily overlooked in internal investigations.

Working quickly, she scanned through screen after screen, looking for the last piece of the puzzle, then, with a sigh she sat back in her chair and whistled through her teeth.

“Bingo!”


	69. What is Happening to my London

Having put Matthew Reader in touch with Neville Drury, John and Sherlock backed off, arranging for them to contact John when arrangements had been made with Mycroft.

They had given John’s mobile as a contact number, knowing the GPS had been disabled on it, and it was a measure of John’s trust in Sherlock that he simply handed the phone over and directed him to attach an old blues number, Stranger on the Shore, as Reader’s ringtone.

John switched on the television, just in time for the BBC news.

In stunned silence Sherlock walked across to stand next to John’s chair, both men drawn to the reports of the bomb incidents.

“Barrymore.” John said, his voice little more than a whisper.

“How can you be sure?”

“I know he’s after Openshaw’s territory, it’s been on the grapevine for months, looks like he’s finally made his move.

“Will this affect our plans?”

John looked down with a small sad head shake.

“If anything it will help us, because hopefully Openshaw’s men will make some kind of stand.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“No, just inevitable.”

Something in those words made Sherlock glance down at the man sitting beside him.

“What is happening to my London?” John whispered, sorrow heavy in his tone. “Day by day it seems to be turning into Bedlam.”


	70. Support

“You can’t let it get to you now” Sherlock sounded concerned. “Not after all you’ve done, all you’ve been through!”

John’s shoulders slumped in an attitude of defeat.

“Sometimes I wish…..” Drawing a deep breath, he found he couldn’t finish the sentence.

Sinking down beside the distressed man Sherlock’s hand hovered, unsure whether he had the right to offer comfort.

Deciding it couldn’t hurt he gently laid his hand on John’s shoulder, feeling the slight flinch then the warmth of the smaller man’s trust as he relaxed and leant into the touch.

“Don’t do this to yourself John,” he said quietly, taking in the lines of exhaustion that left their stamp on John’s face. “It’s just tiredness talking.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you didn’t sleep well last night; I heard your nightmares….” Sherlock’s cheeks reddened as he admitted his eavesdropping. “Then there was our pre-dawn start this morning. You’ve done so much for me in such a short time; let me do something for you.”

With gentle hands he urged his friend to his feet and turned him towards the stairs.

“No,” John protested. “Not bed. I’ll lay on the couch and rest; you go and play with your chemicals.” He carefully sunk down; resting his head on the cushions and smiling gratefully as the young man covered him with a blanket.


	71. Chemical Reaction

Standing holding a test tube in the flame of a Bunsen burner Sherlock divided his attention between the chemical reactions in front of him, and the equally strong chemical reaction fizzing through him like rockets whenever John was close. As he watched the liquid bubbling in the glass tube he tried to recall if he had ever felt this way before, and if so when and for whom, but nothing came to mind. 

Sherlock was nothing if not brutally honest, at least with himself, and as he consulted his notes and added a few more chemicals to the mix he examined any likely ulterior or less than realistic motives. Was it the fact that John had rescued him, had offered him trust and security, befriended him where others had avoided him?

Resting the test tube in a wooden rack he waited, automatically noting the chemical changes, letting the part of his mind that was looking inwards review the last few days.

Although they were opposites in many ways they worked well together, complimented each other, even had the same slightly twisted sense of humour…..

And suddenly it was crystal clear. They were the two halves of one whole.

Like he had craved first drugs, then absolute mental focus and clarity, so Doctor John Watson craved the adrenalin rush of the battlefield.


	72. Moving Closer

The body removed from what was left of the house in Bloomsbury was unrecognisable; the incendiary nature of the device had left the bare husk of what was once a human being, charred and twisted with the heat.

It was nearly lunchtime before Greg could leave the crime scene in the capable hands of the forensic team, and he headed back to his office, wondering how long it would be before some sort of retaliatory action would be taken.

Noting that both Gregson and Dimmock were already back in their offices pursuing their cases, he made his way to his office and called his team into his office.  As they crowded into the room he outlined the events of the morning, tasking various officers to work with Gregson and Dimmock’s teams to build the case, while setting others to pick up surveillance of known bomb makers.

Waiting until they filed away, he turned next to his computer, knowing that whatever he put onto the system now would be open to Sally’s view, but as soon as he logged on he realised that Sally had worked her magic and found their mole.

On the desktop was a new file marked ‘Phone Records’, in it were the itemised bills for a certain officer’s mobile phone and she had highlighted calls made to Barrymore.


	73. The Phone Call

John couldn’t pinpoint why it was that he was suddenly wide awake and alert, and it was only as he struggled to untangle himself from the blanket that he realised that his was mobile ringing. 

With a frown he reached into his jeans pocket.  The ringtone wasn’t one he had assigned to a friend, so he was wary when he answered it.

“Hello?”

“Am I speaking to Dr John Watson?” The voice was cold, posh and business-like.

“Yes, this is Dr Watson, who’s speaking?”

“You don’t know me Dr Watson, but I believe you have my brother.”

“Have?  I ‘have’ no one, Mr……?”

“Don’t be obtuse Watson; you are currently holding my brother, Sherlock Holmes….”

John had started towards the stairs, the mention of the brother raising the suspicion that was confirmed with that last comment.  Knocking gently on the door to 221C he walked in, still talking to the man on the phone.

“I don’t understand why you think I’m holding anyone; you must have mistaken me for someone else.” Sensing Sherlock moving to his side, John stopped walking and handed the phone to him, holding a finger against his lips for silence.

The young man put the phone to his ear.

“Dr Watson….”

“Mycroft?” Sherlock gasped.

“Sherlock.” Mycroft Holmes sounded relieved. “It’s good to hear your voice little brother.”

 


	74. Suspicion

“Sherlock, you know the routine,” Mycroft spoke quickly and quietly. “Are you captive?”

“Does Mummy know you still try to play nursemaid to me?”

At the other end of the phone Mycroft heaved a gusty sigh of relief.

Giving him a succinct briefing of everything that had happened since the  fateful night he had been taken by Barrymore, Sherlock faltered as he reached the part about Anthea’s treachery, but his brother had learned of it from Reader and Drury.

“I understand your new friend despatched her.”

Sherlock glanced at John.

“He had no choice Mycroft, it was her or us. Barrymore turned up minutes after we left.”

There was a pause as the elder Holmes brother thought for a moment.

“I’ll arrange for a car to pick you up and bring you here….”

“No!”

John jumped as Sherlock yelled into the phone.

“I have a lab set up here, everything I could possibly need, as well as my notes and some of the samples that Mike had been keeping for me.” Sherlock explained hurriedly. “I’m safe here, and I can work undisturbed.”

“How can you be sure that Watson didn’t save you for his own ends?  What if he plans to take the drugs and formulas from you?”

“But ….”

“I’m sorry Sherlock; your Doctor Watson is too good to believe!”


	75. Reaction

John listened to the pleading tone of Sherlock’s voice, obviously big brother was unhappy with the younger man’s living arrangements.

Sherlock’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“I’m sorry John, he insists on coming here.”

“He doesn’t trust me.”

“I tried….”

“He wants...” John shut his mouth with a snap and turned to leave the room but Sherlock’s hand shot out and grasped his arm.

“Wants what?”

John swallowed thickly before replying. “He wants to ruin everything we’ve worked for here.”

“No, that’s not it John.” Sherlock tightened his grip. “Don’t lie to me, please.”

“Damn you Sherlock, let me alone. I need to make arrangements.” Wrenching out of the other man’s grip he hurried up the stairs and hammered on Mrs Hudson’s door.

“What is it dear?” The octogenarian asked, opening her door wide and stepping back to let him in, but John stayed firmly on her doorstep.

“We are expecting unwelcome visitors Mrs H.”

No more needed to be said. The smile left the old woman’s face, and she sighed.

“I’ll be out in ten minutes.” She said. “Will you be alright?”

“Sherlock and I will be fine.” John leant in and kissed her cheek. “I’ll ring when it’s safe to return.”

Heading up to their flat, John went straight to his room and closed the door with a bang.


	76. Revelation

Sherlock paced the living room, wondering what he could do to prevent this oncoming catastrophe.

John’s anger bothered him, and he was certain that the blind doctor had lied to him, but he couldn’t work out why.

Finally he turned and headed up the stairs.  He could hear John’s voice talking on the phone, giving instructions. As he leaned in to try to hear better the door opened suddenly.

“Eavesdropping on your flatmate is more than a bit not good.”

“I was…”

“Not now Sherlock.” He slipped past the taller man and moved back down the stairs. “I’ve just arranged for the flat to be watched, in case your brother brings trouble with him.”

“He won’t make trouble for you; he’s just coming to take me back to wherever he’s been hiding.”

“Yes, but he’s well known, and being looked for; the trouble he brings may not be of his own making.”

John stopped in the middle of the kitchen, his head bowed. Sherlock walked up behind him.

“John, I don’t want to go.”

Turning, john placed his hand on the other man’s chest.

“And I don’t want you to go.” He whispered.

Suddenly the reason for the doctor’s anger became clear. Resting his forehead against John’s, Sherlock asked “What can we do?”

“Persuade him that this is where you belong.”


	77. Bodies of Evidence

Despite having closed down his computer, the name was still searing itself into Greg’s brain.

Part of him didn’t want to believe that such a close colleague could have betrayed his oath, but the timings of the calls correlated too closely with incidents involving Barrymore, one or two were made shortly before he himself had been summoned to the gang leader’s presence.

His thoughts were interrupted as DC Greenaway poked his head around the office door.

“They’ve just pulled a vehicle out of the Thames at Chelsea Creek.”

“Not our division Greenaway pass it to traffic.”

“Actually Sir, they passed it to us.  Looks like it’s not been in the water long; no more than twelve hours.” Passing over the initial report, the young officer hovered beside Lestrade’s desk.

Traffic had checked the vehicle registration, flagging up the fact that it had been stolen the previous day from a car hire company in WC1, a company that had known links to Peter Openshaw, and all at once Greg realised why they had passed the incident to him.

“Jesus, this is tied into this morning’s bombings.” He passed a weary hand over his eyes. “Could today get any worse?”

Greenaway shuffled his feet, looking anywhere but at the older man.  Lestrade sighed.

“Okay, gimme.”

“The car had passengers, we have seven bodies.”


	78. No Hiding Place

Glancing at the clock Sally realised that it had been nearly three hours since Greg had texted her about the car in the river.

She had been so engrossed in trying to find more evidence to support their case that she had shut out everything around her. Now she realised that it wasn’t the passage of time that had dragged her from her research, but the sound of the lock on the front door being picked.

Thinking quickly she shut down the laptop, shoving it and her notepad in a cupboard under the sink, hidden behind the rubbish bin, before scooting through to the spare room looking for a likely place to hide.

The door suddenly crashed open, and the lackey who had followed Greg the previous day led a handful of thugs into the flat.

“The boss is certain she’s here” Sally heard a voice saying as she crouched, still and silent in her hiding place.

“Someone was here recently,” said another voice. “This mug is still warm.”

Thinking quickly, Sally typed and saved a note on her mobile giving the whereabouts of the laptop and notes, hoping Greg would think to look for clues when he came home and found her gone.

Then, as the door of her hiding place rattled, she hid the phone and held her breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of us old enough to remember......in the early sixties No Hiding Place was one of the first Police series on British television :)  
> Just an odd factoid!


	79. Rumours

Lestrade and Greenaway drove most of the way in silence, but by the way the younger officer fidgeted in his seat Greg knew he had questions.

“Ask.” He said quietly, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Well Sir, I overheard some of the lads on one of the other teams talking about Sergeant Donovan.” Greenaway sounded uncomfortable. “They said she’s been suspended pending a disciplinary.  Is that right?”

“It seems to me,” Greg grimaced. “That some people, in the absence of facts make it up as they go along. Not a good trait in a police officer.”

“That’s a no then?”

“No Greenaway, she has not been suspended.”

Silence settled over the car once more, until Greg sighed.

“Look, she was a school friend of the murder victim out at Fulham. The job’s ours, so I’ve loaned her out to another team to make it easier for her.” He shot a glance across at his passenger, noting that he was nodding thoughtfully.

“Problem?”

“No Sir.” Greenaway jumped guiltily.

“Good. Now, mind on the job, let’s see what atrocities this turf war has thrown up at us.”

Pulling smoothly to a halt just outside the cordon tape, Greg stalked across to the white forensics tent.

“How did they die?” he asked Anderson.

The forensic lead pointed to the first body. “Bullet”


	80. Execution

Pulling on a pair of latex gloves Lestrade gently moved the head of the nearest victim.

“Execution style.” He confirmed grimly. “Face looks familiar too.”

“Yeah, I know him Sir.” Greenaway had leaned across, looking over his shoulder.  He stepped back, adding “His name’s Bartlette, one of Openshaw’s fixers. I nicked him on a firearms charge, but their slimy lawyer got him off.”

“That’s right,” Greg agreed, his voice harsh as he leaned further into the car. “And the slimy lawyer joined him by the looks of it. D’you remember his name?”

Greenaway shook his head.

“Right,” Lestrade glanced at his watch. “I’ll leave you in charge of the team, I want to know who heard or saw what and when.”

Ripping off his gloves he headed back to his car, calling over his shoulder as he went.

“I’ll be at home, text me if you get anything.”

Pulling out into the flow of early evening traffic, Greg sped home.

The flat was eerily silent as he opened the door, and he rushed through the flat, coming finally to the spare room, where there was irrefutable evidence of a struggle. Moving aside the clothes that had been pulled haphazardly from the cupboard he spotted, hidden in the dark confines, Sally’s phone.

Snatching it up, he closed his eyes and swore bitterly.


	81. Argument

Mycroft stood in the middle of the room and let his cold gaze sweep around, taking in the organised way the furniture had been set out, noting how his brother had managed to leave his mark in the form of piles of papers and notes, and a laptop (not his!) open on the coffee table.

Sherlock leaned against the mantlepiece, an expression of petulant annoyance marring his youthful features. On the other hand John was sitting in his armchair, looking as if there was nothing more to this than a familial visit.  Only Sherlock could see the tension in his friend’s shoulders.

“What do you want?” Mycroft addressed his question to the man sitting in front of him. “I assume you have this place watched, and now that you have me here you will make your demands.”

“Yes, the building is being watched, but that’s for our safety and nothing more.” John sighed. “You have nothing I want or need, Mr Holmes. Your brother and I have been working together quite effectively, and….”

“….and,” Sherlock butted in “we are actually making progress.”

“Progress?”

“Myc, we worked together to make contact with you,” Sherlock was almost pleading with the other man. “And John’s a doctor, he’s been able to make suggestions about my research…”

“Really brother?” Mycroft sneered. “Even though he’s blind?”


	82. Bad News

“John doesn’t need eyes, he’s got me.” Sherlock stated loudly, stepping up almost nose to pointy nose with his brother.

Mycroft’s lip curled in disdain.

“Yes brother dear, he has you.”

“Oh for crying out loud….” John added his voice to the argument, but was interrupted by the buzz of an incoming text.

“Text?” Sherlock frowned.

“Yeah, normally I’d get Mrs H or one of the lads, would you mind?” he held his phone out for Sherlock to take.

“The number’s not recognised.” Thumbing the message open, Sherlock read it aloud. “G, laptop and notes behind cupboard bin. Intruders in. Help. S.” Glancing at the frown on John’s face he continued. “That looks like a note transferred to message, under that it says ‘They’ve got Sally, going after her. GL’”

John tapped his lips with his fingertips. “That’ll be Sally Donovan….”

Mycroft bit back a gasp of surprise.

“GL is Greg Lestrade, her boss. He was sheltering her at his flat. Barrymore has obviously sussed them out.”

“But why send this to you?”

“I have access to his flat too, obviously they’ve found something, it’s in the notes or on the laptop.”

“Or both.” Mycroft said quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, but why go after her?”

“Because he offered protection and he won’t let her down.” John scratched his head and swore. “Bollocks!”


	83. Decision Time

“Sally was my messenger, she was close to Anthea.” Mycroft sat down on the couch. “You’re sure she wasn’t party to….” He still couldn’t quite believe that his security had failed so abysmally.

“Greg is happy that she’s trustworthy, I trust his judgement.”

Mycroft nodded. “And you Sherlock? You trust this police officer?”

“I don’t know either of them,” Sherlock hated to admit a gap in his knowledge. “But if John says Lestrade’s judgement is sound…” He shrugged.

“You don’t get to be a Detective Inspector without being able to read people and understand them.”

“So what do you plan to do Doctor Watson?”

John sat quietly for a moment, then picked up his phone and pressed a number.

“Andy, John Watson.” He spoke quickly and quietly. “I need you to spread the word that Barrymore has Sally Donovan. We don’t know where she’s been taken.” He listened for a moment to the man at the other end of the phone.

Mycroft looked questioningly at his brother, but Sherlock simply held a finger to his lips as John started speaking once more.

“Can we get someone to watch Greg Lestrade’s flat, make sure no-one’s loitering.” Getting the response he wanted John said goodbye and finished the call, staring blindly at the phone in his hand.

“It’s time to take London back!”


	84. Futility

Greg swiftly hid both his and Sally’s mobiles, having texted John the Sergeant’s message. He only hoped that someone trustworthy was with him and could read him the message.

Now with a grim smile he opened the door to the flat, knowing the on the other side were Barrymore’s minions.

“Boss sent us to invite you to come along and have a little chat.” The self-appointed leader had a bad case of acne and an inflated opinion of his importance to the organisation. “He’s been hearing bad things about you, you’ve been telling porkies.”

“Sounds like he’s been listening to gossip.” Greg stood his ground.

“No Mr Lestrade, he’s finally seen the light! Now, you gonna come quietly?” He grinned around at his companions, to see if they got the joke. They grinned back.

While they were still sniggering Greg bolted, knocking them over like skittles as he ran for the stairs.

He almost made it to his car, but he had reckoned without the reinforcements they had left out on the street. 

The resulting scuffle was brief but vicious, and the Detective Inspector found himself being bundled into the back of a transit van.

 “You’ll regret messing with Mr Barrymore.” The thug snarled “And when he’s finished with you, we’re gonna put you in a hole with your prize bitch!”


	85. The Missing Scientist

Molly Hooper sat in her flat staring at the two places laid for dinner.  Sighing wearily she looked again at the text message she had received;

‘Might be late tonight, don’t wait up for me.’

Tears prickled in her eyes, and she scrubbed them away angrily. 

“Don’t be such a wet rag Molly Hooper.” She chastised herself out loud. “Who cares if it’s the anniversary of your first date, crime doesn’t stop for relationships! You’re both professional people, you knew the pitfalls of falling for a police officer.”

Fortunately the meal she had prepared would keep, so she turned the oven off and settled down to watch a DVD, hoping the soppy Rom-com would cheer her up a bit.

Molly must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew a hand was shaking her shoulder and she opened her eyes to look up into smiling brown ones, laughing down at her.

“I said don’t wait up.”

“Oh,” Molly blinked, flustered. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“That’s alright sweetheart.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Nah, just tired. This turf war is escalating, and it’s all tied in with that missing scientist.”

“Sherlock Holmes?” Molly watched as he nodded an affirmative.

“But he’s not missing!” She said, startled. “I saw him yesterday in Postman’s Park, sitting with some blind guy on a bench.”


	86. No Limitations, No Boundaries

Sherlock and Mycroft stood in the basement laboratory, the younger man explaining his advances in their work.

Mycroft however was watching his younger brother intently, his mind only half on what was being said.

“Don’t.” Sherlock said suddenly, staring at his brother through narrowed eyes.

Schooling his features to blank enquiry, Mycroft raised a shapely brow.

“You know exactly what I mean Mycroft!  Don’t deduce me, if you have a question then ask it.”

“What’s going on between you and the doctor? And please don’t tell me nothing, I can see there is in the way that you look at him.”

With a sigh Sherlock leaned against the workbench.

“He’s my friend, Mycroft.”

“Really? You’ll forgive me if I find that hard to believe Sherlock, after all, you never even managed to make friends at school…”

“Nevertheless I have a friend now, one who would risk much to get me to safety when Barrymore would have killed me to bring you out of hiding.” Suddenly all the fire seemed to have gone out of him as he added “And for all I knew, you didn’t care.”

“Sherlock!” Mycroft was horrified by his brother’s words.

“I’m not a child now, I know my own mind.” A slight smile graced his pale features. “For me, living with John has no limitations, no boundaries.”


	87. A Close Run Thing

It was close to midnight when Sherlock re-joined John who was in the living room with his face turned towards the fire, thinking.

“He didn’t drag you off to his hideaway then.” He commented with a smile as he heard Sherlock cross the floor and slump down tiredly in the armchair opposite him.

“It was a close run thing.”

“And he was happy with our plan of attack?”

Sherlock chuckled. “Mycroft is never happy, however he really couldn’t find fault with your tactics.”

A comfortable silence settled around them as they both considered what needed to be done the following morning.

“John?” Clearing his throat Sherlock waited for the older man to turn his face towards him. “What now?”

John frowned.

“Well, you said you didn’t want me to go, and we’ve convinced Mycroft to leave me here, so what now?”

“That very much depends on you.” John held out his hand.

Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled towards the other man, finally ending up on his knees between John’s legs, his hands resting on John’s thighs.

Closing his eyes John cupped Sherlock’s face in his hands, running his thumbs over the sharply etched cheekbones, leaning in to softly capture his lips in as tender a kiss as Sherlock had ever experienced.

Lifting his head finally, John whispered “You are beautiful.”


	88. Reunited

A hard shove between his shoulder blades sent Lestrade sprawling through the door of the damp basement room.

There was a glass block window, too high for him to reach, but in the muted light from a street lamp outside he saw Sally sitting, huddled and shaking in the corner of the room.

“Sally?  You alright?”

Turning her face up towards him, Sally finally let the tears she’d held in since her capture spill down her cheeks.  One eye was bruised and almost closed, and on the opposite cheek her caramel coloured skin had a purple handprint, testament to the treatment she had received.

Pulling her into his arms, Greg held her as she cried, listening to her distressed babbling, thankful on several levels that she wasn’t being particularly coherent.

“Shhh,” he said softly, as her sobbing subsided. “I’m sorry I didn’t keep you safer.”

“Th….they wanted to know how to find those men, those names I had from Mr Holmes.” Gulping loudly Sally eased back out of Lestrade’s hold, a mixture of embarrassment and shame on her face. “I don’t think they believe me….” A note of hysteria entered her voice.

“Sally, stop it. You’re better than this, better than them. Don’t let them get to you.”

“Yes Sir.” She took a deep breath.

“Whatever happens, we won’t be broken.”


	89. Informer

He waited until Molly had fallen asleep, curled around her pillow with a smile on her face.

Easing out from under the covers, Dimmock grabbed his discarded underwear, pulling it on and slipping silently out of the room.

The living room was eerily lit by the streetlight outside the window, its yellowy glow coating the furniture in sickly tones.

Quietly closing the door, he took his mobile phone from the charging dock and opened his contacts, pressing dial and holding the phone against his ear.  As he listened to it ringing he kept his eyes on the door in case Molly came looking for him.

Finally a gravelly voice answered.

“This better be good Dimmock, I don’t like bad news in the middle of the night.”

“I think you’ll find it is Mr Barrymore,” Dimmock replied softly. “Sherlock Holmes has been seen, he’s still in London.”

“Where?” The gang leader was alert now, his voice low, dangerous. “Whose area?”

“Still on your turf, he was in a park just a little way away from Bart’s.”

“Alone?”

“No, he was talking to someone, blind guy, but he could be anyone.”

The silence on the phone was thick with expectation.

“Find out more, get me details.” And with that the call was ended, leaving the police officer staring out of the window blankly.


	90. Retaliation

Turning off his bedside light John Barrymore turned over and prepared to return to his peaceful sleep, promising himself the pleasure of planning the downfall of Holmes the younger, and he had almost tipped over into the arms of Morpheus when his phone rung again.

With a snarl he snatched the handset once more from its cradle, and a cold voice asked him a question that sent his heart plummeting to his stomach, and his blood pressure soaring.

“How will you work Mr Barrymore, when your offices no longer exist, and your staff are no longer at your beck and call?”

Before he could respond the sound of the dial tone reached his ear as the caller rang off.

Wasting no time he dialled the number of the night security staff but the line was dead.

Then he tried his trusted second in command. The mobile switched straight to voicemail, and when he dialled the land-line he was greeted with that same burr of a line that was no longer available.

Anger drove him from his bed, pulling clothes haphazardly onto his bulky body, puffing with a combination of exertion and anger.

He was already halfway down the stairs when a fist pounded on the door. As he approached it blew inwards, splitting and splintering as the blast knocked him backwards.


	91. Calm Before the Storm

Sherlock’s eyes fluttered shut as he surrendered to the sensation of John’s thumbs stroking across his cheekbones, the feel of John’s lips still imprinted where they had blazed a trail across his, and the warmth of John’s breath as his spoke.

“Have you fallen asleep down there?” There was a huff of laughter in the question as John’s thumbs lightly caught at the edges of Sherlock’s lashes.

The doctor gently pulled him close once more, and this time a questing tongue edged between cupids bow and full lower lip begging entrance, then once granted, tasting and teasing.

Sherlock groaned, leaning into the kiss, his limbs feeling heavy as he let his hands slide along John’s thighs, blindly groping for the other man’s hips.

“Shhh, gently. We need to get some rest if we are to find Greg and Sally, and help your brother.”

“Sorry, I’ll….. I’d better turn in.” He started to pull away.

 “Come back here you git! _We_ need to rest, but that doesn’t mean separately.” John stood and pulled Sherlock to his feet. “Your room I think, nearest.”

In silence they entered the room, and stripped down to their underwear. Slipping under the duvet they naturally gravitated towards each other, wrapping around each other as if from habit, and in the warm darkness forgot about the trouble beyond.


	92. Pre-emptive Action

For the second morning running London awoke to the news of a spate of bombs exploding. 

While the emergency services phones were busy taking calls and directing fire appliances and police officers, so an underground network was also waking and taking action.

In the downstairs bedroom of 221B Baker Street two sleeping figures were startled awake as John’s phone belted out a rock classic.

Scrabbling for his jeans John dragged the offending item out of his pocket and answered it, his voice rough with sleep.

Switching on the bedside lamp Sherlock watched as the shorter man stood, pulling on clothes as he listened and as the call ended Sherlock could see the thoughts racing around his head.

“Get dressed, we need to get over to Greg’s place.”

“He’s back?” Sherlock pulled shirt and trousers on with quick smooth movements.

“No, more bombs.”  Walking out of the room John headed to kitchen and rummaged in a draw, grabbing a set of keys that were hidden at the back before returning to the hall to put on shoes and Jacket.

Sherlock was waiting .

“We need to get whatever it was Sally Donovan left hidden before Scotland Yard realise he’s missing and turn the place over.”

Downstairs Sherlock hailed a passing cab, and holding the door for John followed him into the back.


	93. Retrieval

Sherlock scanned up and down the street as he and John crossed the pavement, entering the building and ascending the stairs.

Unlocking the front door John slipped in first.

“No lights” he whispered.

“No, and the curtains are still open, so stay on this side of the room.”

“Guide me through to the kitchen.” 

In the faint light coming through the windows Sherlock glanced around, quickly getting his bearings, then with a firm hand on John’s arm he directed him through to the kitchen.

“If you can’t see a laptop or note book on the kitchen table, then Greg must have left it in situ.”

“Behind the bin?”

“Try under the sink, seems logical.”

Sherlock knelt down to look, reaching in around the stainless steel pedal bin. His hand closed around the cold plastic laptop casing, and he pulled it free, resting it against his leg.

“Got the computer.” His voice, still quiet, was muffled as he leant in further. “Feels like there’s a…. yes, I can feel a note book.”

There was silence save for a muffled curse and then the sound of the bin shifting in the cupboard space.

“Got it!” Sherlock was quietly triumphant. He picked his treasure, snagging a backpack that hung on the back of the kitchen door and slipping them in. “Time to head back.”


	94. Scotland Yard

Scotland Yard was in turmoil.

Gregson and Dimmock had been contacted and deployed to two of the bomb sites, but the Control Room operator had been unable to get a response from either Greg Lestrade or Sergeant Donovan.

Checks with members of their team gave them no answers, Greenaway hadn’t seen Lestrade since the previous evening at the river, and as far as everyone understood Sally was working with Woolwich MIT, but the control Room supervisor was concerned.  Neither of them was answering their home phones, and their mobiles appeared to be dead.

It was unusual enough for the Detective Chief Inspector to send a car round to each of their homes, and assign another Detective Inspector to make preliminary enquiries at the scene of the third explosion.

Three officers climbed out of the squad car and moved through the door to the flats, choosing to take the lift instead of running up the stairs.

They gained entry by forcing the lock, and soon they saw the signs of a struggle in the spare bedroom.  With a cursory glance around the rest of the flat they called it in as a crime scene.

One officer stayed outside the flat, the others returned to their car. Neither of them noticed the two men standing watching in the shadow of a nearby building.


	95. A Puzzle of a Slightly Different Kind

“I would have preferred the chance to look for their mobiles.”  John sighed as Sherlock unpacked the backpack.

“You heard how close behind us those officers were,” the younger man pointed out. “If we’d hung around much longer they would have caught us.”

“Mmm.”  It was a sound partly of agreement, partly irritation as John turned towards the kitchen. “I’ll make tea, you see what’s in those notes first.”

“First?”

“Well, if the answer’s not there, somehow we…. or rather _you_ … are going to have to hack that laptop.”

John couldn’t see it, but Sherlock’s expression was a mixture of puzzlement and possibilities. 

“You’re a scientist Sherlock, a chemist.” The doctor said as he put together their beverages. “You live for puzzles; just think of it as a puzzle of a slightly different kind.”

While Sherlock read, John made breakfast for them both, handing a plate of scrambled egg on toast to the younger man. A mumbled word of thanks was followed by the sound of china being dumped unceremoniously on the coffee table and a return to the sound of pages turning.

“This Sally Donovan wrote copious notes, unfortunately it all seems to be in some form of police shorthand.”

“Jargon?”

“And a lot of reference by initials.”

“Well then, seems the sooner you start on the laptop the better.”


	96. Hacking

“Tell me about Lestrade.” As Sherlock waited for the laptop to power up his mind had raced around the likely passwords, passwords that he dismissed as being too obvious without even trying them. “What is he like as a person?”

John sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, pulling up a mental picture of the grey haired Detective Inspector. 

They had been friends for a few years, ever since John’s discharge from the army, when he found himself working for Sarah’s practice and taking his turn as duty doctor on call to the police.

Nights sharing a coffee in the canteen at Scotland Yard or patching up officers after a particularly difficult case, downtime shared over a pint in the Barley Mow, putting the world to rights and laughing at the vagaries of London Life.

The man he knew was a careful and caring man, still coming to terms with his wife’s infidelity and desertion, the loss of contact with his children.

 Lestrade had been detailed to return John home after his beating at the hands of Barrymore’s thugs. The gang master wasn’t aware that Greg had shared his infiltration secrets with the ex-army Captain, that they had started even before his capture to develop a working network.

Sherlock looked up at John, a password presenting itself plainly. Brotherhood.


	97. The Waiting

The rhythm of a heart monitor underscored the quiet everyday noises of the ICU, and to add to the quiet cacophony of sound a ventilator hummed, pushing air into Barrymore’s damaged lungs.

At his bedside a female police constable sat quietly watching the forced rise and fall of the man’s chest, occasionally letting her eyes wander to the white sterile dressings that covered burns and grazes caused by the incendiary device.

“He was lucky,” A nurse had entered the curtained area quietly, and was checking the pump that fed drugs into the unconscious man’s vein. “They said the bomb didn’t detonate properly.”

“Luckier that the poor buggers caught in the other bombs this morning.” The constable replied, her eyes returning to the face of the gang leader. “Or the ones that went off yesterday.”

“You waiting to interview him?”

“No,” the officer shook her head. “That will be down to my DI.”

xXx

Cold, and the solid uncomfortable floor underneath him had kept Greg awake for most of the night, but the sound of frantic discussions outside the door of their prison woke Sally, and she raised her head rather sheepishly from where she’d curled up on his chest. 

Greg smiled reassuringly.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Looks like we might be here a while,” he replied. “Barrymore’s house has been bombed.”


	98. Rotten to the Core

After Sherlock’s first exultant shout that he was “in” the computer there was nothing but the rapid clicking of the keyboard accompanied by the occasional rasp of a page turning, and John allowed the sound to sink into the background as he  tried to work out their best way forward.

He trusted Sherlock to solve the puzzle of the Scotland Yard mole, and from there they could hand that piece of work over to Mycroft.

The loss of Lestrade was a blow to their cause, not just because finding him had to be high on their priority list, but also, and slightly selfishly, John needed to know what was going on with the bombs.  

He had just made a mental list of calls he needed to make when his companion suddenly spoke.

 “Now we have you!”

“Who?”

“Detective Inspector Dimmock!” Sherlock’s voice was harsh.

“That name mean something to you?”

Sherlock nodded, and was surprised when there was no further comment. Then he felt a hand, soft against his face, reminding him of their first meeting.

“Talk to me.”  John kept his hand against Sherlock’s cheek as he knelt beside him.

“Dimmock, he was on the Prime Minister’s Diplomatic Protection Squad when the government fell.”

“And he got away? Send this over to your brother, it’s more his line of business.”

 


	99. One Less Thing to Worry About

In an inconspicuous house in Guildford, Mycroft Holmes had already been working for several hours when he received his brothers e-mail. 

At the sight of Dimmock’s name and the irrefutable proof of his perfidy, the normally calm and unflappable government official snarled a few choice words half under his breath before reading the rest of the information.

He was relieved to hear that John’s network were already looking for the two missing officers in Barrymore’s known holding places, and Sherlock had also reassured him that he was making headway with the breakdown of the of the chemical binding the drugs. It was one less thing to worry about.

Turning from the computer he reached for the telephone.

Commander Stevenson, head of Counter Terrorism Command was waiting for this call. 

“We have confirmation of the insider at the Yard.” There was no satisfaction in Mycroft’s voice as he named Dimmock as the traitor in their ranks.

“We are ready to move Mr Holmes,” Came the Commander’s soft reply. “Is there anything else we need to know?”

“I’ll send you all the information I have. My brother is working with an ex-soldier who has suffered at the hands of the gangs, they have agreed to let us have any information they get.”

“And their information is good?”

“Their information standard is the best.”


	100. Slander

Molly Hooper was bent over the microscope in the pathology lab when her mobile rang.

It was so unusual that for a moment she was flustered, slapping at her pockets to find the missing piece of tech before spotting it on another workbench. In a panic she snatched it up, hitting the answer button and on seeing the caller ID spoke somewhat breathlessly.

“Hi babe, what’s up?” Her voice lit with pleasure. “I thought you’d been called in to work?”

“I had,” Dimmock said. “I’m waiting to see how many bodies we’ll be sending along to you.”

“You make it sound like a gift.” Molly giggled, unable to help herself.  Gerry Dimmock made her feel giddy, she’d never had a boyfriend quite like him.

“No gift I’m afraid,” he replied. “We’ll need them turned around fairly quickly.”

“But I have….” Molly paused. “Okay, let me know when they’re on their way.”

“Will do.” There was a pause, then “I don’t suppose you’ve seen that scientist guy again have you? “

“No, why?”

“I just thought he may have been in the park again this morning.”

“No. So you need to find him?”

“We think he may be involved in these bombings.”

“Oh no, that’s awful!” Molly gasped, but secretly she was happy to help, to be more than a mere bystander.


	101. Life Support

The warmth of the room and the noise of the machines meant the watching police officer struggled to stay alert. Her vision blurred as her own breathing matched the rhythm of the shallow rise and fall of Barrymore’s chest, and her eyelids started to close…..

“It gets you like that sometimes.”

A cheerful voice behind her jolted her back to reality.

“Oh, you startled me, Dr….. um….”

“Dr James,” There was a lilt of laughter in the dark haired doctor’s voice. “But don’t worry – I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Moving around to the other side of the bed, he picked up the patient’s charts.

“I’ve asked the nurses to make you a cuppa, why don’t you take a stroll down to the desk and have a break while I do Mr Barrymore’s routine checks?”

“I shouldn’t……”

“It’ll be fine,” Dr James smiled cheerily. “There’s only one way into ICU, and that’s through the doors by the nurse’s station, you’ll see all the comings and goings.”

Giving in to temptation, the constable walked along to talk to the nurses.  She had almost finished her coffee when Dr James walked past with a smile and a wave, and reluctantly she returned to her post.

Fifteen minutes later the steady sound of the life support machines suddenly became an ominous, single low beep.


	102. Two Officers, Battered and Bruised

The sound of feet running down the stairs brought Sally to her feet, her ear pressed to the door.

“Everyone out! The boss’s dead!”  A voice echoed down the stairwell.

“What about the prisoners?” A second voice asked

“Fuck ‘em. Let’s go.”

“Oi!  Let us out!” Sally hammered on the door, kicking and bashing it as hard as she could.

“What’s happening?” Lestrade turned away from his contemplation of the high set window and moved to her side. “Whoa, careful, you’ll hurt yourself. What’s going on?”

“One of them just shouted that  Barrymore’s dead . They’re running, and they’re just gonna leave us here.” Sally bit down on the edge of hysteria that caught at her voice, drawing on everything that made her a good Detective Sergeant. “There must be a way to get out of here.”

Slipping an arm around her shoulders Greg pulled her into a warm embrace.

“There may be,” he said, his lips moving lightly over her dark curls. “Haven’t you felt the draught blowing through that glass up there? It’s barely held in place.”

“But neither of us….”

“We’ll take a bit of a rest, then if you climb on my shoulders….”

Sally looked up, his lips were just inches from hers.

And she smiled at the unlikely pair they made, two officers, battered and bruised.


	103. King's Cross

John made his way down Euston Road towards Kings Cross, heading for the arches and the meeting place of the Homeless Network. Back at Baker Street he had left Sherlock completing another stage of his experiment, while he took advantage of the fresh air and the walk to get his thoughts in order.

Calls to his usual contacts had come up blank; no one knew where Lestrade had been taken. Just before he left the flat the news had broken about the gang leader’s death, and his concern for his friend deepened.

 “John.” Kallie caught his elbow as he tapped his way towards the arches and led him into the shelter of the stone structure. “Sammy’s here, and some of the other lads.”

“Great.” John warmed his hands by the brazier. “I want you to take it in turns, a couple at a time, to escort Sammy to the places where Barrymore was most likely to be holding Greg.”

“You need me to break in?”

“Yes Sammy, I want Greg found.”

Kallie quickly started to organise the network, and seeing that she had everything in hand John took his leave.

 As he stepped back out onto Euston Road there was an eerie whooshing noise followed by an ear-splitting loud cracking sound, and the blind doctor was bowled over by the blast.


	104. Anarchy

Kings Cross, St Pancras, Euston. One by one the main line terminus stations exploded, but that wasn’t the end of it. 

Paddington, Victoria, Charing Cross, Cannon Street, Waterloo and London Bridge Stations were next.

Within an hour the three remaining main commuter stations were bombed.

The London Ambulance Service and every hospital in and around central London were thrown into confusion.  With twelve major incidents and hundreds of casualties the capital’s infrastructure was slowly grinding to a halt.

Scotland Yard called in everyone who was on leave, and pulled officers back from other cases in an effort to cover this new and frightening development in the ongoing gang warfare.

xXx

In a room that had been turned into a command centre, Mycroft received the first intelligence about the bombs as he was discussing strategy with Stevenson.  The CTC Commander picked up the phone to mobilise his intelligence cells, while the government official reached for his mobile to ring his brother.

Frowning as it finally went to voicemail, he tried John, only for the same thing to happen. After a moment’s pause he stepped across to open the door and request Matthew Reader to get him the landline number for 221B Baker Street.

Behind him, on the large television on the wall the news camera teams filmed a London that resembled the blitz.


	105. Breakthrough

With shining eyes Sherlock watched the chemical reaction, separating the liquid rubber from the tainted drug.  As soon as it settled he dipped the litmus paper into the brackish looking liquid sitting at the top of the test tube.

It didn’t take long for it to turn yellowy orange, the chemical taint making it far more acidic than the purer control samples.

Quickly noting his results, he turned off his burners and made a half-hearted attempt at making sure the lab was safe, then grabbing his notebooks he rushed upstairs.

Looking around the living room he remembered John saying he was going out for a while, although a glance at the clock showed that that had been nearly four hours ago. With a frown he picked up his phone.

There were two missed calls, both from his brother. He opened the voicemails and listened.

“Sherlock, when you pick this up please ring me. It’s urgent, so please don’t ignore it for the sake of point scoring. I’ve also left messages for John.”

He pressed recall.

“Sherlock, thank goodness.”  Mycroft sounded relieved. “Are you alright?”

“Of course I am, I’ve finally cracked the chemical binding. Why, what’s going on?”

“You haven’t seen the news? Every mainline station in London has been bombed.”

There was an ominous silence, then

“John hasn’t come back.”


	106. No Way Out

Greg and Sally sat shoulder to shoulder on the floor, frustrated at their lack of progress. They had tried several ways to reach the glass blocks that formed the window, but it was no use.

Sitting on Greg’s shoulders Sally could only just reach the bottom edge of the window but couldn’t get sufficient leverage to either push or pull the blocks out.

“If you lean against the wall, maybe I can stand on your shoulders….” Sally’s voice trailed off as Greg snorted with a mixture of amusement and resignation.

“Sally we’ve been over this before.” He said quietly. “I’m not risking you breaking your neck if you fall, just not chancing it.”

“So you’re giving up?”

“Never, nor do I plan to just sit and wait for John and his rag-tag army to find us, but I want us both in one piece when we leave.”

As they talked they had turned towards each other, and Greg’s hand reached up to cup her chin as she leaned in towards him.

It hadn’t been planned, it just happened. Closing the gap between them Greg tilted his head and pressed a chaste kiss to her full lips, his hand sliding up to sink into her luxurious curls, holding her firmly.

Sally for her part sunk into the embrace and kissed him back.

 


	107. The Messenger

Still seething from the argument with his brother Sherlock pulled on his coat, the words running through his head.

_“You mustn’t go after him Sherlock, it’s not safe out there…..”_

_“You expect me to just leave him there?  I have to at least find out if he’s been hurt, taken to hospital.”_

_“I have my people checking admission across all the hospitals.”_

_“Can’t you send someone?”_

_“The roads are gridlocked Sherlock, even if I sent a car it couldn’t get through.”_

_“All your power, Mycroft, and you can do nothing to help John? What use are you?”_

_“Sherlock……”_

He had ended the call, furious that his brother didn’t seem to care that John was caught in the chaos.

Opening the door to the flat he almost ran into Mrs Hudson.

“Have you heard from John?” They both spoke at the same time.

Mrs Hudson’s face crumpled.

“Oh dear, he was only going to the station to get help for that nice policeman friend of his.”

“I’m going to see if I can find him.”

“Is that a good idea Sherlock?  All those bombs……”

“I can’t just sit here and wait, he may be hurt or…”

“Mrs Hudson!” a childlike voice called out as a fist hammered on the front door. “Mrs Hudson, let me in!”

Wide-eyed, the landlady caught her breath.


	108. Playing the Pathologist

A large area of the roadway where Ambulances normally drove into St Bart’s was converted to a temporary mortuary, with more than a hundred bodies already stored there, waiting to be identified.

In the actual mortuary Molly was processing the bodies from the bombed houses as fast as she could without compromising her professionalism.

Dimmock watched as she worked, his eyes narrowed in thought.

“Molly, will you be working on the bodies from the station bombings?”

The pathologist looked up, flashing him a quick smile.

“Some of them probably, why?”

He shrugged nonchalantly.

“We still haven’t found that missing scientist, or the blind man you saw him with….”

“Oh! Do you think they might have been caught up in this?”

“I don’t know what to think Moll, all I know is that we need to find Holmes. His brother used to be in the government so both of them are at risk from the gangs.” He watched as her expression turned sorrowful before pressing his advantage. “And with no-one able to contact the older brother it’s possible the scientist could be lying dead in the mortuary with no one to identify or claim his corpse.”

Dimmock certainly knew how to play Molly’s soft heart.

“Molly, it would really help if you could take me to see if he’s among the bodies…..”


	109. Small Mercies

Sherlock raced down the stairs two at time and flung open the door, expecting to see a child, but instead found himself looking down into a triangular, weather beaten face.

“You must be the flatmate.” The woman said in a high-pitched voice. “Let me in before we draw attention.”

“Maybe standing yelling on the doorstep wasn’t such a good idea then.” Sherlock pointed out as he stepped back to allow the newcomer to enter.

The small woman held her arms out.

“Even on tip-toes I can’t reach the knocker.” She turned to walk up the stairs. “Resorted to hammering and shouting.”

“Hang on, where are you going?” Pulling himself together Sherlock strode up the stairs behind the visitor.

“To John’s flat of course, to talk to you.”

 “John sent you?” Sherlock loomed over her. “Who are you?”

Mrs Hudson put a hand on Sherlock’s arm.

“John sent a message?” she asked softly.

“He got caught up in the blast at Kings Cross. He’s okay, just temporarily deafened.”

“Temporarily?” Sherlock paled. “Are you sure?”

“I’m not, he was though, said something about IED’s and Afghanistan, not the first time.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah, he said you’re to stay here, under no circumstances are you to leave the flat ‘til he gets back.” She smiled. “Oh and he said to introduce myself.  I’m Bernie”

 


	110. Doomed Inspection

Body bag after body bag was opened for Dimmock’s inspection, yet each time he was doomed to disappointment.

Molly was increasingly uncomfortable with the underhand way they were doing this, and with each successive snarl of frustration she was wondering at her boyfriend’s reaction. 

It was a very long two hours, and more bodies were being brought in while they were there, but at last they had opened and checked  every black PVC bag.

“I had hoped we would find at least one of them.” Dimmock paced the mortuary floor. “Where the bloody hell are they?”

Molly kept quiet, but no sooner had her boyfriend decided that he needed to be back in Scotland Yard she returned to her desk and sat with her head in her hands.

“Everything alright?” Mike Stamford tapped at the door as he spoke. “I thought you might like a coffee break.”

Gesturing to a coffee machine in the corner Molly got up and poured him a cup.

“What’s up? Overworked and underpaid?” Mike grinned.

His jovial personality, usually infectious, didn’t even raise a smile today and with a frown he closed the door and accepted the beverage.

“Tell me.”

“I’m scared Mike, I thought Gerry wanted to find that missing scientist alive, but he’s angry because he hasn’t turned up dead in a body bag.”


	111. Uneasy Silence

Mrs Hudson, Sherlock and Bernie sat in uneasy silence. Sherlock had found the messenger to be tight lipped when it came to friends and confidences, and so they sat and waited.

Into the silence a message tone chimed, and Bernie pulled out her phone.

“That’s my cue to be off.” She was out of her chair and heading down the stairs without delay. “See you around.”

Mrs Hudson blinked at the speed of the other woman’s departure, but Sherlock was wondering if he could get away with sneaking out to find John.  When he looked back at the demure landlady she was watching him gimlet-eyed.

“John said wait.”

“But what if….”

“No. Now you just stay where you are.” She rose and walked to the door. “I’ll hear you if you try to leave. Don’t give John more to worry about.” And with that she was gone.

Frustrated, Sherlock prowled around the flat, wandering into his room and staring at the bed, still rumpled from their first night spent together. He could almost see their shadows lying close and warm, rested and peaceful.

He was still deep in thought when he heard Mrs Hudson’s voice and John’s voice reassuring her, and he dashed out of the flat and down the stairs, to pause halfway down to stare at the dirt-covered blond.


	112. Safe

John turned his head towards the stairs.

“Sherlock?” his voice was hoarse, roughened by dust and choking smoke.

The younger man swallowed hard, his eyes taking in all the cuts and grazes, the dirt ground into them still.

Mrs Hudson had quietly retreated and Sherlock slowly descended the remaining stairs until he could pull the smaller man into his arms.

“I was scared.” He admitted, resting his cheek on John’s dusty hair.

“Me too.” John’s arms slipped around Sherlock’s waist. “I lost my stick, my phone wouldn’t work… if it hadn’t been for Kallie and Bernie….” His voice trailed off and he pulled closer, a violent shudder running through him.

“John?”

“For a moment I was back in Kandahar, I couldn’t hear, I was terrified.” He drew a deep breath, choking slightly on dust and emotion. “I wanted to come home, but I didn’t feel safe.”

“You’re safe now John, I’ve got you.” Full cupids bow lips placed a soft kiss on John’s head. “Come on, let’s get you upstairs.”

They ascended slowly, closing the flat door softly behind them.

Reluctantly John extricated himself from Sherlock’s embrace, and turned towards the bathroom. As Sherlock went to follow John stopped him.

“Let me have a minute…. Please?”

He left Sherlock standing outside the locked door listening to water running into the basin.


	113. Cleaning Up

Sherlock was still wondering what to do when the bathroom door opened once more. John had rinsed the dirt from his face and hands, causing blood to ooze slowly from the many cuts and grazes.

“Sorry, I… I just needed a minute. I’m gonna shower…”

“Right. I’ll let you….” His voice trailed off as he found himself staring at John’s hand, stretched out towards him.

“Join me?”

Excitement fluttering like a captive butterfly in his stomach, Sherlock stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

John had stepped back to turn on the shower, then he turned once more to face him, his hands moving to the buttons on the younger man’s shirt.

Slowly, and in silence they uncovered each other’s bodies, hands pushing cloth away to explore warm flesh, finally stepping into the shower.

As if of long experience they gently lathered each other, Sherlock taking care to clean John’s grazes without causing more pain while John leaned tiredly into the gentle hands, his head resting against Sherlock’s chest and his hands grasping slender hips, fingertips stoking lazy circles.

At last they just stood under the water spray, and Sherlock felt John’s lips curve into a smile as they stood, entwined and still like a statue in the rain.

“You need rest.” Sherlock said finally. “Come to bed.”

 


	114. Spare Change

Sammy sat on the wall overlooking the Regent’s Canal, throwing tiny stones into the water, listening to the plopping sound with half an ear as he kept an eye on Kallie, rattling her tin cup in the direction of the tourists flocking to Camden Market.

“Spare change?  Any spare change?”

He smiled, picking out the foreign tourist from the Brits by their generosity.

Kallie scanned the crowds, seeing they were all busy flocking to the shops and stalls. No one had noticed the young boy sitting on the wall. She gave a brief nod and suddenly he was gone, ducking and weaving behind the shops to the row of condemned houses that ran along the canal side.

As soon as he was gone, and she was sure his movements had attracted no unwanted attention Kallie picked up her scruffy backpack before wandering off towards the street, and the front of the derelict row.

Setting herself up at a vantage point on the corner, she continued plead for money while watching the house fronts.  She watched as Sammy moved stealthily between the buildings, entering at the front if the back was inaccessible, and she smiled at his housebreaking skills.

But her smile slipped as, moments later, a car pulled up and a familiar figure climbed out and followed Sammy into the building.


	115. Getting Help

Fumbling for her mobile Kallie punched in John’s number, getting the voicemail before remembering the doctor’s phone wasn’t working. With a flick of her thumb she scrolled through to find the number of his flatmate.

At the first ring Sherlock sat bolt upright in bed, tumbling the good doctor sideways. Reaching for his phone with one hand he laid the other reassuringly on the shoulder of his bed-mate.

“Hello?”

“Mr Holmes? It’s Kallie. Is John there?”

John heard her worried tones and sat up, running a hand through his hair and wincing at the stiffness in his limbs. 

“Put her on speaker.”

Sherlock pressed the button.

“What’s up Kallie?”

“It’s Sammy, he was checking out a row of derelicts that Barrymore owned.”

“What’s happened, has he been hurt?”

“No, but I think he might be in trouble.  Just after he went into one of the houses a policeman went in.” She paused for a moment, then added “I’ve seen him before, but I can’t think where.”

“Was he on foot?” Sherlock asked

“No, he came in a car.”

“Get the number plate, then keep an eye on them.”

Kallie reeled off the number, finishing the call and putting her phone away.

“What do you plan to do?” John asked as Sherlock tapped in a number.

“Mycroft can check registration numbers.”

“Brilliant!”


	116. Cold Obsidian Eyes

“What time is it?” John asked, flopping back on the pillows as Sherlock closed his call to his brother.

The younger man glanced at the clock on his phone.

“Ten twenty, we must have slept the night through.” He paused, leaning down and running his knuckles gently down John’s cheek, pressing a soft kiss against his lips. “You needed it.”

With a soft smile John reached up and pulled the other man in for another swift kiss then swung out of bed, heading for the door.

“We need to get dressed, get on the road.” He said as he hurried up the stairs. “Can’t leave Kallie to deal with this on her own.”

“Mycroft should have the answers for us shortly.” Sherlock called after him as he shrugged into his clothes.

Mrs Hudson opened the door.

“Boys?  Are you decent?”

“Come in Mrs H.” John walked back down the stairs.

“You need to see this.” Mrs Hudson switched on the television.

_“…was just the beginning, shall we call it a wake-up call…”_

Sherlock joined them, his attention drawn to the screen.

_“…A way to tell you all that I’ve returned…. Did you miss me?”_

The screen froze on a smiling picture of the speaker. Sherlock and Mrs Hudson stared at the cold obsidian eyes, but John knew that voice.

“Moriarty’s back.”


	117. Know Thine Ememy

Sherlock’s phone rung, the noise shattering the tense atmosphere.

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“Sherlock, have you heard the news?” Mycroft’s voice remained calm despite the knowledge that his nemesis was once more at large.

“I have and my question is, what do you intend to do about him?”

“We are trying to identify where he’s broadcasting from, because although he’s unlikely to still be there his followers are not nearly as clever as he is, they’ll lead us to him eventually.” There was a pause, as if the elder Holmes brother was psyching himself up to ask for his brother’s help, but Sherlock’s expectation was misplaced.

“Would John’s band of helpers be able to help with the surveillance?”

Hearing his name John turned his head towards his flatmate, who in turn switched his phone to speaker so that the doctor could respond.

“We have one trapped in a house, others engaged in looking for Lestrade or watching for gang movements. Did you trace that registration number?”

“Dimmock.”

“Shit!” John dragged a worried hand down his face. “We need to go. Mycroft, you let us know when you need the kids, I’ll get some help to you.”

He turned away, letting Sherlock finish the call and reaching for his jacket. He was halfway down the stairs when Sherlock caught up, pulling on his Belstaff.

 


	118. Failed Mission

Sally’s head shot up as the door handle turned slowly.

“Greg.” She hissed giving his shoulder a gentle shake. “There’s someone outside.”

Greg nodded, planting a kiss on her forehead before guiding her off his lap so that he could climb stiffly to his feet.

The door rattled, and then a soft voice called.

“Hello?”

“That doesn’t sound like one of Barrymore’s thugs.”

Greg strode towards the door and pressed his face close to the crack between door and jamb.

“Who are you?”

“My name’s Sammy.  Are you Lestrade?”

“Yes, Greg Lestrade. Do I know you?  How do you know my name?”

“We’ve been looking for you, John sent us.” Quick bright eyes scanned around the door, looking for weaknesses. “Are you alone Mr Lestrade?”

“Us?”

“Yeah, Kallie’s keeping watch outside.”

“Right. No, I have Sally Donovan with me.”

Sammy whistled softly, he’d struck gold!.

“John’ll be pleased to…hang on…” His phone vibrated and he quickly pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the message. “Oh no, Kallie says we’ve got company!”

He stood frantically looking for a place to hide but it was no use, there was nowhere.

“Sammy, what’s going on?” Greg whispered loudly, but instead of a response from his would-be rescuer he heard a familiar voice.

“Well, well. And what are you doing here boy?”


	119. Set Back

Kallie watched worriedly as a further three people made their way into the house.  Sammy might have stood a chance one on one with the policeman, but now he would be more than outnumbered; those men looked as if they knew how to handle themselves, and two of them were twice the size of her friend. The third was tall, slim, and looked coldly vicious.

Realising that John and Sherlock might not arrive in time she decided that somehow she would need to delay these people, especially if Sammy couldn’t evade them.  Without a second thought she pitched her backpack into a nearby front garden and ran, crouched, towards the car.

It took just minutes for her to let down two of the car’s tyres, and she ran back to the garden where she’d thrown her bag, crouching in the long grass, watching both ends of the street.

It wasn’t long before one of the heavies re-emerged, Sammy held captive by a belt around his neck. As they approached the car they were joined by another who was pushing Lestrade and Donovan ahead of him. They were handcuffed together.

There was a brief muffled conversation, and then one man nodded and stepped to the back of the car, opening it in readiness to push the two police officers into the boot.

 


	120. Fox in the Chicken Coop

From her hiding place Kallie heard the roar of anger as the thug trying to force the police officers into the boot spotted the flat tyres.

The street erupted into action. Greg and Sally shoved away from the angry man and started to run down the street, while Sammy wrenched the belt from his captor’s hand and ran in the opposite direction.

Seeing him running towards her Kallie stepped out from her hiding place, grabbing his arm and pulling him along behind her.

One of the men tackled Sally to the floor, her fall yanking Greg back and almost overbalancing him. Quickly recovering he looked for an opportunity to lash out at her captor, but the man was too quick and he grabbed Sally’s hair, pulling her head up like a shield, thwarting the detective inspector’s efforts.

Heading in the opposite direction Kallie and Sammy almost made it to the end of the street, but the remaining thug was hard on their heels and his outstretched hand grabbed Sammy’s sweatshirt.

“Stop or I’ll break ‘is neck!” he snarled, stopping Kallie in her tracks.

Reluctantly they allowed themselves to be taken back to the house, where Greg and Sally were also being led back in.

As the four of them passed Moriarty he sneered.

“If they try that again, shoot the boy.”

 


	121. Standing in the Shadows

Standing in the shadow of a tree Sherlock saw the captives being dragged back into the house. He and John had arrived too late to do anything to stop it happening, too far away to be of help.

They were not too far however for Sherlock’s sharp eyes to see Moriarty briefly in the doorway. He hissed in disgust as he caught the words ‘…shoot the boy.’

“Was that…..?” John stood close, speaking low.

“Yes. We might have known he was pulling the strings on London’s most vicious gang.” He turned to the man beside him. “What now? He doesn’t just have Lestrade and Donovan, he has your kids.”

“How many men?”

“I’d say there’s just him, Dimmock and two others.”

John folded his arms and bowed his head, and Sherlock recognised the military tactician coming to the fore. He waited as the ex-soldier rocked slightly on his heels and rubbed a hand across his chin, seeing the point at which he came to a decision.

Pulling the younger man round to stand in front of him, John placed a hand gently on Sherlock’s cheek.

“If I wasn’t everything you thought I was would you still want this?” his hand gestured between them. “Even if Mycroft was proved right to be suspicious?”

“John?”

“No matter.” John sighed and turned his back.


	122. Gamechanger

“I don’t care if my brother’s suspicions are correct.” Sherlock said. “I would find it hard enough to believe that you would do all of this for your own gain, but if you try to convince me you’re working for them….”

This elicited a chuckle from the man standing beside him.

“What then?”

“You’ll see.” John tilted his head. “Lead on then; let’s see if we can’t finish Moriarty and his network for good.”

Keeping to the opposite side of the road the two friends walked slowly down the street, using the cover of trees and parked cars to observe the house.

“No one watching the front.” Sherlock murmured as they slowed to a halt a little way past the building.

“Safe to approach?”

Sherlock laughed. “No, but will that stop you?”

“No.”

Moving swiftly they cut back to the front garden, Sherlock glancing quickly at the windows before grasping John’s arm and guiding him down the path until they stood against the wall, one on either side of the door.

“It’s open.” Sherlock whispered, pushing gently at the rotting wood. 

John nodded.

“D’you fancy walking with me into the lion’s den?” he grinned.

At Sherlock’s affirmative response John turned away, bowing his head and wiping carefully at his eyes before turning back to look up at the younger man, blinking.


	123. Stepping into the Breach

Suddenly a gun materialised in John’s hand, and Sherlock blinked in amazement.

Pressing a finger against his lips John gestured for silence as he stepped through the door.

Swallowing back questions along with his shock Sherlock followed, keeping close behind the blond doctor.

Off to their left was a closed door and from inside came the sound of raised voices. Sliding closer they both listened.

It sounded as if Dimmock was threatening the homeless kids with violence if they didn’t give up the whereabouts of the scientist Sherlock Holmes and his blind friend.

Greg snarled, saying something about how only a useless coward threatened the weak and helpless, earning himself a crack across the temple from the butt of a handgun which made both listeners wince.

That was all it took to trigger a stream of vitriolic defamation of Dimmock’s character and professional abilities from the Detective Sergeant, and John stifled a grin. God bless Sally Donovan’s belligerence.

John and Sherlock used the cover of her diatribe to slip unnoticed into the room, taking the brief moment before discovery to note the positions of every weapon and potential threat.

John cleared his throat.

“Put the gun down carefully Dimmock, and step away from it.” He said, and the officer turned to see Moriarty captive at the business end of John’s Browning.


	124. Turning the Tables

For a moment there was a stunned silence in the room, and then Dimmock slowly bent and placed his gun on the floor.

“Kick it over to Sherlock.  Anyone else with weapons I suggest you do the same, slowly and carefully.” John’s eyes never moved from where they were locked onto Moriarty’s. “And please don’t underestimate my willingness to shoot Mr Moriarty here, at this range I certainly won’t miss.”

Reluctantly Dimmock nodded to the hired help, and two knives and a cudgel were placed on the floor and kicked towards the younger man.

“Now, unlock those cuffs and remove the belt from around the lad’s neck.”

Dimmock threw the key to Greg, who caught it one-handed and unlocked first Sally’s wrist, then his own.  Sally rubbed her wrist then slid along the floor to check that Kallie and Sammy were okay.

Moriarty let his eyes wander across to Sherlock and he sneered.

“So you’re the brilliant Sherlock Holmes, have you figured out how to separate the drug yet?”

“Leave him out of this conversation Moriarty, especially as I’m still standing holding a loaded gun to your head.” John snapped.

“Oh come now Doctor Watson, you really must learn to share your friends.”

“How the hell do you know my name?”

“Because I told him.” Came a familiar voice from behind 


	125. Enter the Ringmaster

Mycroft stepped through the door, followed closely by Reader and Drury, both aiming guns at the occupants of the room.

“Myc?” Sherlock choked out. “What…..?”

“Surely little brother, you must have considered this possibility.”

“I trusted you…….”

Moriarty laughed, earning himself a glare from the Government man.

“Those idiot ministers, they became scared and killed the only people who knew how to separate the drug from the carrier.” As he spoke his henchman disarmed Sherlock and John. “It was fortunate for me that you agreed to work on the project, I think you can say my….. _concern_ ……. over your use of contaminated drugs was realistic enough to be convincing.”

“You bastard!” John snarled as he was pushed against the wall. “How could you use your brother like that?”

“Ah yes, the ‘blind doctor’.” Mycroft sneered. “I see you have miraculously recovered your sight…”

“Piss off Mycroft.” Sherlock lunged towards his brother’s throat but was dragged away none too gently by one of Moriarty’s goons.

John moved to help but was held in place by his own gun waved in his face.

Mycroft turned to Sally.

“And you my dear, you made the ideal stooge. I knew Barrymore would get greedy and use my brother to put pressure on me…” his lip curled in distaste. “Although I had underestimated Anthea…. the bitch!”

 


	126. Close Quarters

“You used me!”

Sally was still angry, but Moriarty bent down and grinned in her face.

“Of course he was using you, you moron, what else did you expect?” He pulled a mock sad face and adjusted the pitch of his voice up a couple of octaves. “Oh please help me Sally, keep my little brother safe.”

Donovan tensed to launch at him but Greg grabbed her and pulled her close.

“Not worth it love,” he said quietly. “Don’t give him a reason to hurt you.”

“I don’t need a reason.” Moriarty snapped, lashing out with his foot at the Detective Sergeant’s head.

John flung himself sideways, putting his body between Moriarty and his target, reaching out to grab the other man’s foot.

Following through with the kick Moriarty send John crashing to the floor at the feet of two of the hired hands. The air whooshed out of his lungs, and he scrabbled around, trying to protect himself from the blows that followed while his companions looked on helplessly.

The attack finally stopped and, bruised and bloodied John crawled back to slump against the wall by Sherlock’s feet.

Under the sneering gaze of his older brother the younger man crouched down, cupping the blond man’s face. Following John’s eyes he looked down to see, sheltered in his fist a blade.


	127. People that Stand in our Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!  
> MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!  
> MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH
> 
> YOU'VE BEEN WARNED TWICE NOW.......... JUST REMEMBER THAT WE ARE STILL MORE THAN A DOZEN CHAPTERS FROM THE END......

“Stand up Watson!” Mycroft spat. “You’ve meddled in our plans for long enough, now we’re going to show you what we do to the people that stand in our way.”

Blue eyes flicked up to grey, hoping that the younger man could read all he was trying to say with that look, then tightening his grip on the blade John turned away from both Holmes brothers as he slowly twisted, catching the eyes of both Lestrade and Donovan as he rose to his feet.

In one smooth movement he launched himself, catching Moriarty and bearing him to the ground, the knife in his hand thrust deep into the Irishman’s neck, slicing through carotid artery and going deep, separating the spinal cord at the cervical vertebrae.

Both Donovan and Lestrade had moved at the same time, tackling Moriarty’s thugs, using them to block Reader and Drury, fighting dirty and using every trick they could think of to keep them down.

Guns skittered across the floor. Sammy and Kallie grabbed and hid them.

Sherlock saw that his brother had John’s gun in his hand and was raising it; taking aim at the doctor’s exposed back.

He leapt forward, grabbing Mycroft’s wrist, and the two struggled for control of the weapon.

There was a crack of gunfire, and the room was awash with blood.


	128. Cordite and Blood

The acrid tang of cordite and the metallic small of blood filled the room, and for a brief moment nobody breathed, nobody moved.

The thud of a dead body hitting the floor jolted them all to life once more.

“Sherlock…….”

“Is he dead?”

“Yeah.”

Pulling himself free of the dead body beneath him, John slowly stood and reached out with blood stained hands to take his gun from Sherlock’s lax fingers.

Greg and Sally herded Dimmock and the hired thugs into the corner of the room, Sally retrieving a gun from Kallie, giving her the advantage over their greater number.

With a quick nod over his shoulder to Greg, John motioned for the two members of his homeless network to wait outside, away from the blood and gore before turning his attention to his friend.

“You okay?”

“He was my brother John, I trusted him.” Sherlock’s voice was small and childlike. “He was going to kill you…”

Heedless of the sticky mess still covering his skin John pulled the other man close.

“But thanks to you he didn’t.” He whispered against the other man’s cheek.

They stood clinging to each other a moment longer, but a whining voice behind them drew them apart.

“They made me Lestrade, I had no choice.”

“Yes you did Dimmock,” Lestrade replied. “You just chose bad.”


	129. Shocked and Shaken

Greg and Sally took charge of the clean-up, allowing John the time to take his shocked and shaken friend home.

Kallie and Sammy had travelled with them as far as Kings Cross, then the cab carried on to Baker Street. If the driver had any misgivings about the ill-concealed bloodstains on their clothes and the flimsy tale of being attacked by strangers he sensibly said nothing, just took their money and disappeared into the dense London traffic.

Guiding Sherlock up the stairs, John called to Mrs Hudson to join them.

“Sit.” He ordered the younger man. “We need to consider what we do now.”

John looked up as the landlady walked through the door carrying a tray with tea and biscuits, and he smiled widely for the first time since Mycroft had revealed himself to be in league with Moriarty.

“Bless you Mrs H!” he exclaimed grabbing one of the mugs and handing it to Sherlock, waiting only until those long pale fingers had curled around it before thrusting a couple of biscuits into his other hand. “Eat those.”

Like an automaton Sherlock did as he was told while John explained the situation to the octogenarian landlady, and he let her sigh and fuss over him when the truth came out about Mycroft because right now, he just couldn’t be bothered.


	130. Destroying the Evidence

Greg glanced up and down the street before approaching the sabotaged car. He should have realised when he was first brought here that there was no CCTV coverage, and no CCTV meant that someone in authority must have had it removed.

At least, he thought to himself, it meant that his next actions would go unrecorded, and therefore unknown.

Sally stood in the doorway, casually watching the street, her pilfered gun tucked safely into the waistband of her trousers, still warm from recent use.

“All clear.” She whispered to Greg as he crouched beside the petrol filler cap with a couple of large empty bottles beside him and a length of hose he’d found in the house.

Working quickly the detective syphoned off the fuel which he took back inside.

The minutes ticked by. Sally pretended to be interested in the property, looking at it from all angles, running her hand over the peeling paint of the window frames. To the casual passer-by she looked like just another bored estate agent, but nothing could disguise the relief in her eyes when Greg finally re-emerged and pulled the door carefully shut.

“I’ve started a fire in the back room.” He said quietly as he took Sally’s arm and strolled away. “With enough accelerant to ensure the evidence is destroyed by the blaze.”


	131. The End of the Day

“Reports are just coming in of fatal house fire in the Camden area.” The newsreader’s cultured tones filled the stillness of the Baker Street flat. “Six bodies, believed to be local gang members have been found in the shell of the burned out building, although cause of death has yet to be established….”

John felt a shudder run through the man lying with his head in his lap, and he ceased his gentle stroking through the dark curls.

“You okay?”

Sherlock hummed lightly, a sound that was neither agreement nor denial.

“Hungry?”

“No.”

“You should eat.”

“Why? What use is food?”

John sighed.  Sherlock needed to eat, but right now an argument was the last thing he should have to deal with.

“Come to bed then, try to get some sleep. I won’t say things will be better in the morning, but maybe it won’t be quite so raw.”

Silver-grey eyes turned up to him.

“In a while.” A small frown creased Sherlock’s forehead. “How did you do it?” he reached up a hand and allowed his fingertips to drift softly around John’s eyes.

“I didn’t lie, well not entirely.” John had known this question would come. “The blindness was temporary, but it was obvious that as a blind man they thought they had no reason to fear me, stupid bastards!”


	132. You Are.....

“I have a friend that works in theatrical make-up; she fitted me with vision blocking contacts, but not the usual white iris and pupil. She had them coloured to give the appearance of eyes damaged by violence.” John explained.

“She did a convincing job.”

“She had the opportunity to study the real thing.”

Sherlock sniffed and sat up.

“And are you going to go back to being blind?”

“Not alone here with you, but out there?” John gestured vaguely at the window. “Until we get away from London to a place of safety it’s the safest thing for us both.”

“We?”

“What?”

“You said we.” looking away Sherlock added “I wasn’t sure you would want me around, not now that the mole in Scotland Yard and the Government ringmaster have been exposed and dealt with.”

Cupping Sherlock’s chin gently in his hand John turned him back so that they could look at each other.

“Even if you hadn’t been instrumental in cracking the riddle of the drug shipments, having got you away from Barrymore’s clutches I wasn’t going to let you go.”

Shining grey eyes widened.

“Every time you spoke I fell harder for you, and that first night, as you slept, I risked everything to sneak down to your room to look at you.” John sighed, adding “You are beautiful.”


	133. Visitors

While Sherlock sat and absorbed that information John ran down the stairs to speak to Mrs Hudson.

On his way back up he collected Greg and Sally who arrived carrying the minimum of luggage.

“Is he alright?” Sally asked as her eyes swept over Sherlock, still sitting exactly where John had left him.

“Been hit over the head with an unexpected truth.” The doctor grinned, moving through to the kitchen and putting the kettle on. “What are your plans Greg? Going back to the yard?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know who to trust anymore.” The older man shook his head.

“Sally?” John looked at the Detective Sergeant, eyebrows raised.

“If I’m honest I’m taking my lead from Greg.” Sally sighed. “When the government fell we all knew it would be manic, but I didn’t expect….” The usually stoic caramel features suddenly crumpled at the enormity of what had happened.

Greg was at her side immediately, pulling her into his arms, his hand cradling her head against his shoulder as she cried.

“Shock.” John said softly, putting two mugs of tea beside them on the kitchen table and taking a third through to Sherlock.

He put his head back round the kitchen door.

“Let me just move some of my stuff from upstairs and she can rest up in my bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry - after today I'll be out of touch for a couple of days, and won't be able to update until Friday :(


	134. Pairs

John left the bedside lamp on and turned to Sherlock.

“At last, I get a chance to really see you.”

The younger man blushed slightly.

“I hope you like what you see.” He countered shyly, reaching for his shirt buttons.

“Don’t.” John stopped him. “Let me.”

With quick, practiced fingers he undid the buttons, sliding the smooth cotton from Sherlock’s shoulders, whistling appreciatively through his teeth.

Stepping forward he placed his hands on the other man’s waist, pulling him close and dipping his head to kiss a pink and aroused nipple while his busy hands undid trousers and pushed them and boxers down.

Ripping at his own clothing he barked “Bed!”

~O~

Tucking the duvet around Sally’s shoulders Greg stood to leave, but a hand grasping his stopped him.

“What?” he asked softly, looking back at her.

“Don’t go.” She whispered “I don’t want to be alone…”

“You won’t be alone, I’ll just be downstairs…” Greg stopped, seeing tears shining in her eyes, trembling on her lashes as she tried to blink them away. “Sally don’t…”

“I can’t help it, I thought that I was going to die, that we were…” Sally drew a shaky breath. “That we were finished before we ever got started.”

Tugging at his hand Sally slid across to the far side of the mattress.

“Come to bed.”


	135. The Morning After

Sherlock rolled over, turning his face away from the early morning rays that were trying to burn through his eyelids.  He felt sore in ways he hadn’t felt since his university days, and remembering the cause stretched a smile across his face.

At the soft sound of an indrawn breath his eyes flickered open, and he looked up into John’s tender gaze, his velvety navy blue eyes taking in every facet of Sherlock’s satisfied expression.

“Good morning.”

“Morning, sleep well?”

Sherlock hummed, a small smile turning up the ends of his kiss ravaged lips.

“Much as expected after my doctor recommended such energetic calisthenics.” He cocked an eyebrow at John, who grinned knowingly back. “There may just be a need for payback….”

Leaning down, John captured the younger man’s full lower lip, lapping and nibbling at it before sliding his tongue in between Sherlock’s teeth to tango with his tongue.

“I’m counting on it.” He laughed softly as he pulled away again. “Meanwhile, do you want breakfast in bed?  Or would you prefer to sit with me in the kitchen while I prepare us a feast?”

“Just us? What about our guests?”

John rolled himself out of bed, smiling at Sherlock’s territorial claim on the flat as _theirs_.

“They’ll be quite a while, if last night was anything to go by.”

 


	136. Next Steps

Showered, dressed and with full stomachs, Sherlock and John had slipped out to the shops to get the morning papers before settling themselves on the couch to pore over the various reports.

Although both men looked up when Greg and Sally finally joined them, neither mentioned the blush darkening Sally’s cheeks, nor the proprietorial arm Greg kept around her waist.

“Help yourself to breakfast.” John said, ducking his head back to look at the newspaper spread out on the coffee table. “Mrs Hudson will be up in a short while to go through our plans and help us to sort out our next steps.”

“Next steps?” Sally called through from the kitchen as she made toast and coffee.

“Can’t stay here.” John sat back on the couch and glanced at Sherlock, whose eyes narrowed as he thought. “Any ideas, genius?”

“Why’d you call him that?” Greg was far too hungry to remember his manners, cramming almost a whole slice of buttered toast in his mouth.

Sally came out of the kitchen to hear John’s answer, Sherlock also turned to look at him, intrigued. John just raised an eyebrow.

“You should see him with a chemistry set.”

Greg choked on his toast.

“What are you up to now John Watson?” Mrs Hudson bustled through the door, looking pointedly at her grinning boys.


	137. Five Card Trick

John looked again at Sherlock. The younger man looked back, then nodded.

“My brother’s house.” He said eventually. Suddenly he frowned. “He enlisted the help of Counter Terrorism Command, surely wouldn’t have been involved….”

“Very unlikely.” John agreed. “If they were in on it, they would have brought back up to Camden. It’s more likely he used them to put Dimmock and the lesser thugs in the frame.”

Glancing at his companions he continued, “I believe they will accept that Sherlock has escaped London with our help, and will wish to be left in peace.”

“We can ask for police protection until the gangs are rounded up.” Greg added. “That would be expected.”

 Mrs Hudson settled herself into her chair.

“I’m staying here.” She stated firmly. “It will be safe enough I’m no threat to anyone….”

“That’s ‘cause they don’t know you Mrs H.” John grinned “Right, we’ll move the stuff we can’t take into storage in 221C….”

“…..then we’ll pull the five card trick.” The octogenarian finished for him.

“Five card…..?”

“One by one the five of us will leave the building; you’ll be given routes to take. All except Mrs H will return via the back door to collect our bags.”

“And,” Mrs Hudson explained. “You buy time to get away- anyone watching will expect you to come back.”


	138. Packing Up

A stunned silence fell over the room, broken only by a harsh laugh from Sally.

“That’s too bloody simple.” She said.

“That’s the beauty of it.” John countered quickly. “If there are any of Mycroft’s associates still bothered about us they’ll expect us to come up with a clever, complicated plan.”

“Is that likely?” Sherlock asked.

John shrugged and stood up.

“Look, we can discuss this ‘til the cows come home but it won’t change our position, and it won’t change our plans.”

“So, we pack up?”

“Yeah.” Looking down at Sherlock John smiled. “If you can pack up the lab equipment, but we’ll take your notes and stuff with us. I’ll check up here to see if anything needs storing, and pack our clothes into two backpacks.”

The younger man disappeared down the stairs.

“What about us?” Greg indicated himself and Sally.

John grabbed a pen and notepaper and drew two quick maps. He handed one to Greg.

“Head out this way, when you get here….” He indicated a road parallel to Baker Street, “you wait. Sally, you’ll go this way about fifteen minutes later and meet up with him here.”

“And come back here together.”

“Right. Mrs H, can you go first?”

“Right you are dear,” she nodded. “And I’ll make a meal for when we all get back.”


	139. Divide and Conquor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies again for the delay - I've just spent a pleasurable weekend at the Sherlocked Convention in London, so if any of you lovely readers were there, I hope you had as good a time as I had!!

With the smoothness of a well-rehearsed military manoeuvre five people left through the front door of 221B, but only one returned.

Once more wearing his lenses, John tapped his way back past the bomb-damaged entrance to King’s Cross Station, and on to the old railway arches where Sammy and Kallie were sitting, talking to the ever fluid groups of homeless people.

“Doc John!” Sammy spotted him first, scrambling to his feet.

“Sammy.” John acknowledged the boy. “Kallie here?”

“Yeah doc.” She rose to join them, and moving them out of earshot Kallie lowered her voice.

“So, you can see then Doc?”

“Kallie I’m sorry, the deception was for everyone’s safety.”

“And all the running we did for you…..?”

“Was vital Sammy, trust me. I couldn’t have worked without your help.”

“So, what do you need?” Kallie asked.

John reached out for her hand.

“To give you these, and to ask Sammy to do one more job for me.”

“These…..?” Kallie looked down.

“Are the keys to 221B. Mrs Hudson will still be there, but Sherlock and I need to lay low for a while. I’ll be happier knowing you can access shelter, food and basic first aid if needed.”

“What job?” Sammy asked.

 “I need you to meet me tonight at Clapham Junction station, ten o’clock, and bring a special bag.”


	140. The Journey

The train pulled out of Clapham Junction station. Its four special passengers, having boarded separately at two different stations, waited until the journey was well underway before moving back through the train to meet in the end carriage.

“This feels like running away.” Sherlock dropped his backpack onto the seat beside him and slumped down opposite John.

“It’s playing safe.” John replied with a smile. “Anyway, I have something for you.”

His friend raised an elegant eyebrow.

John smirked and flicked a glance up at the overhead luggage rack. On it sat the old battered sports bag that Sammy brought back from Sherlock’s home seemingly a lifetime ago. 

Eagerly Sherlock lifted it down.

“You play?” Sally asked, looking over his shoulder before taking a seat across the aisle.

“No, I like to look at it.” Sherlock muttered testily as he moved the violin case aside and took out the skull.

“Yorrick, I presume?” Greg laughed and slid into the seat opposite Sally.

“Everyone’s a comedian tonight!” The younger man exclaimed, exasperated.

John chuckled.

“Maybe you should put him away for now, we don’t want to attract unwanted attention.”

Sherlock nodded and carefully slid his grinning friend back into the bag.

“Thank you John.” He said softly.

“You’re welcome.” John replied “I was sure that you wouldn’t want to leave them behind.”


	141. At Mycroft's House

“The last we heard, you had gone missing.” DCI Wright handed Lestrade his warrant card back.

“We had to slip out of sight.” Greg went on to explain about the mole in Scotland Yard, and how he and Donovan had worked to uncover the traitor.

“Unfortunately,” Sally added with a swift glance at Sherlock and John, “Mr Holmes, in attempting to save his brother, got caught in the crossfire.”

The DCI nodded gravely.

“And the fire?”

“We have to assume it was started by one of Moriarty’s men.” Greg coolly held eye contact with the CTC officer. “We put Mr Holmes’ brother and Dr Watson here into a cab- Sherlock was in shock and the doctor wanted to get him away from the carnage-  when we went back…” he shrugged, leaving the statement open.

Clearing his throat the DCI nodded.

“Mr Holmes, I’m sorry about your brother. He was keen to keep you, and the work you were doing, safe.”

A squeeze of John’s hand on Sherlock’s arm warned him to say nothing.

“Mycroft will be missed, not just by his brother but by all who knew him.” The doctor said solemnly.

“I’m sure.” Wright agreed.

“I hope you are able to arrange protective surveillance here?  It’s been a long journey, and I for one want simply to go to bed.”


	142. Friends Protect Each Other

When at last Sally was able to close the door behind the retreating figure of DCI Wright, the four former fugitives all breathed a sigh of relief.

“Are we safe now?” the Detective Sergeant asked, looking wide eyed at the three men sitting in the large lounge of Mycroft’s (now Sherlock’s) house.

“Yes,” John nodded thoughtfully, “Yes I do believe we are.”

“So long as we are careful.” Greg added.

“Smart move that, getting Wright to agree to request yours and Sally’s immediate transfer to our protection team.” With a grin John turned to Sherlock. “And who’d have thought you were such a good actor? You almost had me convinced that you could only trust people you knew well.”

“It made eminently good sense to me,” Sherlock stretched and yawned. “We four need to look out for each other, and anyway,” he added for good measure. “Greg and Sally are safer here.”

“I’ve gotta say I don’t fancy returning to the yard anytime soon.” Sally sighed, slumping down beside Greg on the couch.

“No need to for a while, they have no idea where I’ve got to with the work.”

“And that is?”

“As far as they are concerned I have a long way to go before a work out the chemicals and technique to separate the drugs from the binder.”


	143. One Day

John reached out for Sherlock as the slender man slid into their bed.

“Okay?”

Burrowing into John’s hold Sherlock nodded, pulling close and pressing his head against the muscular chest, revelling in the solid thud of the doctor’s heartbeat.

Pressing a soft kiss on the top of the curly head John stroked a hand down Sherlock’s back, coming to rest on his hip before rocking his own hips forward in invitation.

“Hmmm.” Full lips smiled as Sherlock’s tongue shot out and swiped across a tempting pink nipple.

John sucked in a breath, arching against the wet marauder, taking the attack as invitation to retaliate he cupped plush buttocks, then slid his hands down muscular thighs, pulling them to wrap around his waist.

They made barely a sound as they lost themselves in each other’s bodies, their eyes as they met time and time again said all that was needed…. ‘I’m here for you’…. ‘I love you’…. ‘Nothing will come between us’…

And in the aftermath, as they lay entwined, breathing slowly returning to normal, only then did they break the silence that surrounded them.

“It’s all over then?”

“It will be, once the police and army take back the city.” John sighed. “I wish it hadn’t come to that though.

“And us?”

“One day I promise, one day we’ll go back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N  
> I want to thank everyone that has read, commented, and stuck with this story through its many twists and turns.  
> But it doesn't end here - there will be a follow up - I have a title, but not much more at the moment.....I hope when I finally get it started you'll be back to read what happened next!  
> Thank you again for your wonderful support!!  
> JAL ;D


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